When Hermione Met Draco
by stelluuuuh
Summary: A very Muggle accident leads to an unusually long friendship between Hermione and Draco. But is that all that it is? A series of not-so-random encounters. HG/DM. EWE. Post-War. Non-Canon pairing. AU. Loosely based on the film, "When Harry Met Sally".
1. One

**Author's Note:** Hello, lovelies! Obviously, this is a new story. This story is the one that I've been working on for about a few months now. It's only twelve chapters, and I have two more to go. This will also be posted on Ao3 under the same username. I know that I'm setting Breathe Again aside but as I promised before, I will finish that story - no matter how long it takes. This story's updates will be once a week. Hope you enjoy reading this one! Thank you so much, guys! - Love, Ste.

 **Dedication:** Lightofevolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashesToAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **One**

"When Draco falls from Heaven"

.o.O.o.

 _"_ _Got caught running up a tab  
Couldn't drive home so I had to share a cab  
Introduced herself by her last name_

 _…_

 _But the alcohol made its way down  
She was the last thing that I saw last night before I hit the ground"_

 _(Right Girl, The Maine)_

.o.O.o.

October 2001

Of all nights, it has to be tonight.

This definitely isn't how I planned my evening.

I want to think, it's nothing but a joke. A sick, unpalatable prank that ends with someone bursting out of nowhere to tell me that I've been played. But soon, I realise that I have been waiting for nothing.

A million other things were more likely to happen than this incident. But of the million options, fate chose this cruel – and very unusual – event to ruin my evening. I turn back to the cabbie standing behind me, terror evident in his eyes.

"He… h-he appeared out of nowhere," he stammers, pulling his hat off and crushing it in his hands, "Oh God, I – I killed him, didn't I?"

I look back at the unconscious man lying on the snow-covered concrete. His black trench coat now covered in sleet. He lies face down with his arms splayed above his head. But it isn't the fear that we've killed a man which has me twisted. It is the fact that I know him – though not very well – and of all nights, I did _not_ want to deal with… this.

 _Merlin help me_. I sigh, ambling around the bumper of the cab to nudge the unconscious figure with the tip of my shoe. He makes no move. I prod his leg more insistently and finally, a soft groan escapes from the man.

The cabbie lets out an uneasy chuckle, but I remain stiff and unaffected. I hold my breath, deciding to crouch down and flip the unconscious man onto his back.

Shite.

His face comes clear in view with a few strands of stray hair cast upon his closed eyes. I gently push back the stray hair covering his eyelid and examines his face for any cuts or bruises - nothing. As I lean back, I inhale sharply and catch a whiff of... _ugh, gross_. He smells as though he took a bath in a tub of bile and whiskey. I wave off the cloud of odour before I proceed to inspect his body for injuries.

I slowly pull my wand out and shielded it away from the cabbie's sight before muttering a quick spell, " _Rennervate_ \- "

Without a second longer, the unconscious man responds with a surprised gasp and a choking sound - wide and pale eyes searching, dilated and disoriented, shock draining the remaining colour of his face. I hear the cabbie shifting behind me, trying to catch a glimpse of what is happening -

"Where - am…" He coughs, failing to speak clearly.

"Ssssh," I hush him down, cautiously glancing back to the Muggle - confusion and suspicion masking his chubby face - before I turn back to the man on the ground and whisper, "You're all right, don't worry - "

Before I can finish, his eyes begin to roll to the back of his head and shakily closes - finally dozing back to sleep. I let out a huge breath, internally reprimanding myself for being a decent human being.

Afterwards, I glance back at the cabbie and say, "He's just drunk. Come on, let's get him inside the cab." The old man nods and hurries to help me drag the man to an upright position. We carry him to the cab and settle him inside the backseat before I squeeze myself into the crowded vehicle and the cabbie rushes to his seat.

Slowly, the cab hums to life before it speeds back onto the street. We drive in silence - until I hear a loud and incredibly gravelling snore coming from the dark lump of a man next to me. I do my best to ignore the noise, focusing on the bursts of light provided by the passing street lamps.

"I think we should take him to the hospital, ma'am. There's one, only twenty minutes away from here." The cabbie assures, still driving. He shifts his gaze between the rearview mirror to look at me.

The man right next to me shifts his position, interrupting my train of thought. I didn't plan this, no, and for someone as organized as I am, this mess is completely unwelcome. My time is valuable, and wasting it on someone that I can't be bothered with is utterly annoying.

 _What am going to do? This is insane_. A shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head. "No, don't bother. He's my idiot friend, I can take him home." I almost gag at what came out of my mouth. I force the bile back down my throat and roll my eyes, thinking how this happened.

The cabbie looks at me uncertainly. His eyes flit between me and the road ahead while we take our next turn. I slouch against the cushion and wait.

"Are you sure, ma'am? He could be really hurt." The cab comes to a standstill at the next intersection, the red glow of the stoplight illuminating the interior of the cab. I take a conscious look at the sleeping man next to me.

 _He is_ , I think. _But I can't just give him to the Muggles._ _God, what would my friends say? What would_ Ron _say? Should I even tell them? Maybe not… yet_. _And no, of course, I'm not sure. I'm mad –_ this _is mad._

I feel the urge to yell as loud as I possibly can; instead, I bite my tongue to keep from making a noise.

If my friends found out what had happened, who knows where they'd send me. Maybe to St Mungo's for a psychiatric evaluation.

"I can definitely handle him," I assure the cabbie, tasting the uncertainty on my tongue. I swallow the lump sitting in my throat, checking back in on sleeping figure to my right.

After an uneasy silence, the cabbie mutters, "Alright. If you say so, miss." Then, the car jerks into drive.

.o.O.o.

Soft beams of light push through the open balcony doors while the crisp October breeze rolls in, just hard enough to flutter the sheer white drapes in the air.

I'm sitting at my worn kitchen table, scanning through the headlines of the Daily Prophet and stirring a warm cuppa to my side.

He – the man I'd dragged in from the street last night – sleeps soundly on the sofa, completely unaffected by both the sunlight scattered across the room and the sound billowing in from the street. A splash of silvery blond hair drapes over his eyes. I've never seen like this before, so defenceless… messy, even. His expensive robes were dishevelled, and one of his dragon-hide shoes was thrown across the living room floor.

He looks… _human_.

I stifle a small yawn with the back of my hand, still exhausted from the night before. After the cabbie and I had settled him on the sofa, I immediately collapsed into bed without even changing my clothes, only to be transported into this half-asleep hellscape. I tossed and turned restlessly until I felt the heat of the sun sear through my skin, announcing the arrival of a new morning.

I live in an impressively small – no, _affordable_ – flat in Muggle London. Not that I don't have money to rent a larger flat, possibly even a house, but rather because I would prefer to spend time on my career rather than mopping the floor or wiping the window glass. So instead, I've claimed a flat near Charing Cross rd – one bedroom, a kitchenette, a living room with enough space for a petite L-shaped couch and two shelves, a bathroom, and a balcony the size of a large plant box overlooking a good view of the city. I've never needed many things, only the necessities: a place to eat, sleep, sit, work, and a few shelves worth of books for both leisure and research – another reason that this flat is the perfect size for me.

I live alone. Sometimes, Ron stays with me when he gets a break from his Quidditch training. His _official_ address is still the Burrow, but he spends as much time as he can manage here with me. Besides the fact that we both enjoy spending time together, we haven't discussed this part of our relationship.

I exhale and take a bite from one of the brittle biscuits sitting on the other end of the table. _Merlin_ , if only Ron knew who is sleeping right now on the sofa… he'd certainly flip.

A soft groan distracts me from my worrying. My eyes snap over to the man on the sofa, noting that he'd finally woken up, and his arms trying to block the warm light beaming toward him. He groans louder, his arms stretched above his head and lazily pulling himself into an upright position. My face hardens into a casually irritated mask, straightening my back up to hide my exhaustion, but nothing about this situation is casual; especially the erratic heartbeat in my chest telling me that this is a very stupid idea.

"Where _the hell_ am I? What happened to – "

"You're in my flat, Malfoy," I interrupt, trying - though, unsuccessfully - to hide my nerves by using a disinterested tone.

His head swivels around to my direction, eyes narrowing and then widening. He slumps back against the sofa, rubbing his eyes to remove any sleep dust.

" _Granger_?" He grumbles, hissing in pain when he flexes his shoulders. "What the fuck happened? Why do I feel so fucking sore? Did I get trampled on by a pack of centaurs?" His eyes raise to look at me again, puzzled but I only avert my eyes.

"Honestly, that would've been a lot easier to explain. But no, you were hit by a moving cab. _My_ taxi cab," I inform him, taking slow, deep breaths in attempts to calm myself. I turn my attention back to the Daily Prophet, trying to ignore the gaze burning into the side of my face.

I brace myself for some sort of scathing remark, but to my surprise, he says nothing. All I hear from him is a resigned sigh. I sneak a careful glance at him and notice the crease between his thick pale eyebrows. "Do you want anything to eat or drink? Biscuits? Tea? Coffee – "

"Whiskey," he interrupted, "I want whiskey. Do you have it?"

I respond with a glare, but he only watches me expectantly. _Is he serious?_ I scoff and shake my head, "No. I don't have it. I only have tea, coffee, and tap water – so you'll have to settle for one of those."

He drops his head back against the sofa, and as silence surrounds the flat again, I decide to pour him a cuppa and walk over to hand it to him. He looks up at me, his expression dripping with scepticism.

"What?" No answer. "Oh for God's sake," I roll my eyes and take a sip from the cup, "See – no poison? If I wanted you dead, trust me, you'd already be _rotting_ in the ground. I do know how to get rid of a dead body."

When he finally accepts the cup, I return to my kitchen table and sit back comfortably on the dining chair. I twirl a strand of curly hair that has escaped from my messy, tangled bun, and watch Malfoy unfold from a distance. I feel the urge to run to my bedroom – but the flat is small, there is no point in hiding anyway. _Why am I playing hostess? We aren't friends and yet here I am, offering him tea like we're some old colleagues who hadn't seen each other in a very long time. This is_ –

" – sweet…" He mutters and places the cup on the coffee table. I look up in surprise; he recognises the confusion in my eyes and clarifies, "The tea – it's very sweet." _Oh, right_.

I open my mouth to say something but my words fail me yet again; instead, I look away to hide my heat rising up on my cheeks. After a few moments, he breaks the silence again. "Are we the only ones here?"

I clear my throat. "I live alone, yes - if that's what you're asking. Though sometimes, Ron stays over whenever he gets a break from training. He plays for the Chudley Cannons."

Malfoy only hums in response. I watch him look outside the balcony; the sunlight brightening his face. I realise how pale he looks. I passively examine his face: the sharpness of his jaw and the stubble around it, his high cheekbones, the flutter of his eyelashes, the quiver in his pink lips. I drag myself out of my thoughts - _why the hell am I even looking at him_ \- and switch gears, deciding to ask him about last night.

"Where were you last night, by the way? I mean, you suddenly fell right into the street."

"I, um… I think I was coming from Blaise's. He had a little party, and to be honest, I can't remember anything after I've had so many shots except that I disapparated from his flat – " Malfoy explains, shrugging, " – and now, I guess here we are."

"You disapparated – _drunk_?" I echo, a soft laughter bubbling in my chest.

"I realise now how foolish it was – "

"You think?" I huff. "I'm not a big drinker, but honestly, I can't even trust myself to apparate after one glass of wine. Seriously, what if you splinched yourself? What if it hadn't been me who found you? What if someone else saw you and – "

"And here I thought you didn't care about me," Malfoy says smugly. An arrogant smirk tweaks the corners of his lips. My mouth hangs open, struggling to formulate the right words.

"I – I do _not_!" I bark, inwardly cursing myself for being so obvious.

He maintains his smirk, clearly amused - which made me clench my teeth in irritation. He shakes his head. I scowl and turn back to the newspaper laid out on the table, trying to ignore the growing tension inside of me before miserably failing when Malfoy speaks again.

"Why did you bring me here?"

 _Oh_ _sweet Godric_ –

I wish I knew. I've spent hours thinking about it, and yet I've failed to come up with an answer. I still think that this is a huge mistake, a lapse of my better judgment – but for some reason, here we both are, sitting comfortably in the quiet.

Curling my lip, I catch the expectant look on his face, still waiting for the answer that I'm not sure I can give.

Sighing, I only shrug.

Neither of us speaks for what seems like minutes, the quiet lingering longer and longer until all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. Eventually, Malfoy clears his throat and stands, "Well, I think I've outstayed my welcome. I, um… I think I should probably go."

I frown, but I stand anyway and point him the front door. He moves, heeding my direction, and I smell him as he nears me. The smell of alcohol from his clothes has waned already - _wait, why am I even smelling him?_

I shake my head.

A lump stalls in my throat. I remain stiff from where I stand, a hand cautiously running over my arm. I can see his stormy grey eyes, dilated and downcast and somewhat ashamed before I hear him, "Granger – um, I… t-thank you for last night."

I frown, pressing my lips together.

"Sure. Anytime," I stutter – _what is happening?_ I shake my head, letting out a nervous laugh.

He doesn't move, and our eyes lock in a long gaze that seems to be exploring the depth underneath each colour. As time stretches, I break away and keep my eyes on the floor, "So… I'll see you around?"

"Right," Malfoy quickly replies, suddenly aware of his surroundings. He resumes his short walk to the door. A click echoes and he slips out of the flat without saying another word.

I release a sigh and glance across the empty flat. I notice the forgotten tea on the nightstand, the unfolded blanket which I draped over him last night, and the sheer loneliness that wraps around me, accompanied by an ice-cold realisation -

I'm alone again.


	2. Two

**Author's Note:** Hello, lovelies! I'm so glad you've decided to check this story out! Thank you! I know I haven't updated Breathe Again for a while, and for that, I am terribly sorry. I'm not even halfway through - but little by little, I'll get there, I promise.

Now, before we proceed, I would like to announce that I am looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!

And here is Chapter 2. I hope you like it. - Love, Ste

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Two**

"When Draco hides from a banshee"

.o.O.o.

 _"Everybody lies, lies, lies  
It's the only truth sometimes  
Doesn't matter if it's out there somewhere waiting for the world to find  
Or buried deep inside  
_ _Everybody lies"_

 _(Everybody lies, Jason Walker)_

.o.O.o.

February 2002

I sigh in frustration.

Gripping the desk, I exhale in exhaustion – watching the last of the daylight slip from the windowsill as the sun sets for today. I straighten up and wince at the loud crack on my hip bone after crouching down for so long.

This has been a very long and tiring day. However, the hours threaten to stretch further by the look of the paperwork I've been assigned to finish tonight.

The door opens, and I look up to see Melinda – my secretary – peeking her head in with a bright smile. I try to flash one, still scanning the documents scattered across my desk.

I ask, "Yes? Is there a problem?"

"No, Miss," Melinda replies, "Just want to remind you that you have a breakfast meeting tomorrow with Mr Dunhill of the – " she glances at her folded parchment in her hand, " - the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, nine o'clock at Giovanni."

I nod while taking note of the appointment. As I glance up again, I notice the crease between her brows, eyes fixed on the tower of unfinished work on my desk, "It's nearly five o'clock, Miss. Aren't you late for dinner – at the Weasleys, you said? Mr Potter has already left fifteen minutes ago – "

I let out a deep breath, chuckling. "Well, we have to finalise this final draft by tomorrow, and I'm not even halfway through this whole thing – so I think I'll have to pass. I'm sure they'll understand – "

"But isn't Mr Weasley back from training tonight? You haven't seen each other in months, Miss – "

I flash a hesitant smile, "He'll understand - " I inwardly roll my eyes at that, tasting the poison on my tongue, " - this is more important than dinner. The Wizengamot finally granted us a second reading, and you know how difficult it is to make them listen to anything - much less to a proposed bill for the protection of house elves..."

Exhaling, I quickly become aware of my prattling, which I tend to do when I'm trying to convince someone. In this case, myself. I try to avoid Melinda's gaze by pretending to look for a lost document across the desk.

"Oh, you work too much, Miss," the witch at the door remarks. I only sigh in defeat. "I can stay for a little while and help with the papers – "

"No," I say, waving a hand dismissively, "Go home. Rest early. I'm fine, really. Besides, I work best when I'm alone. I'll see you tomorrow, Melinda."

Smiling, I focus my attention on the unrolled scroll laid out on the desk. I take a slight peek and catch the young witch looking at me with uncertainty but remains quiet. After a long pause, Melinda finally concedes, "Alright. Good night, Ms Granger."

I try to maintain the smile on my face, watching her leave. Once she was out of earshot, I tightly grip the edge of the desk and exhale in frustration – knowing that this night will be as long as the day that had gone by – and, with one last sigh, I rub my eyes awake.

I lean over and search for another file before comparing it to the page on the book I've opened. I pull the quill from my ear to make notes in a yellow parchment. Sweat begins to drip down my back, so I remove the dress robes from my shoulders and throw it over the chair. I'm beyond exhausted – my muscles aching with every move that I make, my legs stiff from standing too long, my hands numb when I write long notes; but this… this is what I do.

I work as a Senior Magical Researcher under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures from morning 'til evening. And if it is even possible to bring work at home, I take it home and keep working. Even Ron sometimes complains that I work too much – but in all honesty, I don't know anything else other than work. This is what I'm good at and everyone knows how dedicated I am to my career; although sometimes I worry that this – whatever I'm doing – isn't worth it.

"Working late again?"

A shriek escapes my throat, followed by a startled jump and the tip of my wand defensively pointed at the blond wizard leaning against the threshold. A hex nearly slips from my mouth but as soon as I see him, I swallow it back.

He arches a brow in amusement.

"God – " I exhale in relief. A satisfied smirk breaks across his lips. I shoot him a deathly glare and throws the nearest thing I can reach - a crumpled paper - at him, which he dodges effortlessly. I scowl, "Stop doing that! It wouldn't take a bloody minute to knock!"

Malfoy chuckles, "Well – that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

He enters the office without permission – not that he ever asked for it – and plops himself on one of the single cushions. Much to my dismay, he lifts his feet and rests them on the edge of my desk. I simply roll my eyes and keep working.

Scheming through the document, I realise that I've been the reading the same sentence five times and not a word sinking in. "What are you doing here? I thought you have a date tonight – "

"Had a date," Malfoy grumbles as he looks away. "I couldn't stand the witch. I swear on Salazar's grave, she shrieks like a bloody banshee. I left her at the restaurant when she went to the loo." He rubs his face with a hand before letting out a frustrated sigh. A strand of his white-blond hair falls over his eyes and creates a silhouette, giving him an inexplicable look.

I raise my eyes in disappointment – a tiny smile curling the corner of my mouth - before grabbing a new parchment and scribbling notes from my references. "Well, that's what usually happens when you allow your mother to set you up on blind dates – "

He shoots me a pointed look, so warm that I can feel his eyes burning through me. "I do not allow her. She simply goes with it without my approval – "

" – well, it's not like you refuse her either – "

"I'd like to keep my mother... _happy_ ," Malfoy says with a hint of nonchalance. He turns his head to the right where my bookshelves are, eyeing the view with such interest.

Silence fell between us. However, it isn't the kind that feels uncomfortable, rather the kind that provides a sense of familiarity that even if our words are reduced into steady breaths and look-aways, we know – we know what this means.

I sit back. I pull myself toward the desk and lean forward on my arms before giving him a knowing look, "We both know that the only way to make your mother truly happy is to stop seeing me. She _hates_ me." Malfoy squints at me, glaring – but I only shrug.

Waving my wand, all of the papers began to clear from the desk and pile themselves in a tower. The books close and return to the empty spaces on the shelves. All that remains is a final draft, written in a fifty-feet scroll with its top-end flowing down the floor. I tip my quill in the inkpot before scribbling my new research – but my mind keeps on drifting somewhere else.

"Oh please – " Malfoy groans, throwing his head against the seat with a little creak, " – she knows that it will never happen. I can be friends with whoever I choose. I am her son, not her pet – "

"And she is only looking after you – "

"Oh, gods! You're starting to sound like her. Might as well go on and have regular afternoon teas with her," he drawls indignantly. His grey eyes flash in irritation, his hands clenched into a tight fist, and he bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snark some sarcastic reply.

I sigh deeply.

Our relationship is – to say the least – very complicated. Not many can understand how we became friends but we are more similar than we thought. We have a connection that I've never felt with anyone, even with Harry or Ron – and he understands me as much as I understand him.

We aren't perfect. I remind him how it feels to be human while he reminds me that not everything has to be taken seriously. I can't presume to know how we work but despite our obvious differences, the two of us seem to fit like missing puzzle pieces.

But we knew that it wouldn't be easy.

Narcissa Malfoy still occasionally boasts about blood supremacy in her soirees or tea parties, still refers to me as the Mudblood, and still thinks that I'm lower than the dirt under her shoes; and Ron still grumbles and curses and spits on the Malfoy name as though they are all the same to him.

Not many understood but there are some that have accepted and moved on – like Harry, most of the Weasleys, Blaise, Theo –

"Granger?" I turn back to my uninvited guest and hum in question. He quips, "If you frown hard enough, your whole brain is going to shrivel – what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I shrug, continuing my work. Our eyes met, only exploring each other. He arches his brow, waiting for me to say something. I smile, "Just that... we've come so far. Our friendship, and I'm glad that we've become friends despite what other people say."

The quiet surrounds us and fills the entire office. I listen to the grating noise my quill makes as I write and watch as the letters come together in words before my eyes. My legs tighten under the table and try to ignore the low growl in my stomach; soon, I feel his eyes watching me again closely.

Taking a short glimpse to confirm my suspicion, I see a deep frown forming across his forehead. I ask, giving him a bored look: "What? Do I have something on my face - " I consciously lift a hand to wipe the stain on my face, only to stop when I hear his reply.

"Where is Weasley?" He asks outright, not holding back. I hitch a breath. I look down again, concealing the heat rushing through my cheeks. Too late. "Aren't you supposed to be having dinner at the Burrow? I thought that he's coming home tonight – "

"He is," I reply tersely.

 _Keep writing,_ I tell myself – but the words are swimming in my eyes.

Malfoy frowns before lifting his eyebrows higher as realisation finally hits him. I let out a heavy breath in exasperation while his mouth twitches into a teasing smirk. He leans back and folds his arms over his chest, "So I take it – you still haven't replied to his letter last week. Still avoiding him, huh?"

"I AM NOT – " Tension rises to my head – but I let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he is right. My hands drop on the desk, the quill rests atop the open scroll before I lean back. I rub my eyes, keep them shut as I try to avoid looking at him.

The swell in my chest burns – warmer, warmer, and warmer – and the look in my eyes soften, "I'm not – I just… I'm tired, you know, of fighting and of trying to make him understand that this – " I draw in a breath and pause, not knowing the right words to say, " – what I'm doing is important to me. I want to do some good in this world, and I try so very hard to make ends meet and help build a better place for everyone – "

A nervous laugh erupts from my mouth after my words. I only look at him with so much question, and he only looks back at me with so much understanding, " – but I can't do it when he always asks me to… to… rest and drop and just… _stop_. I mean, how do I do that? I – I – I don't even know how to do that. I don't even think that the word _rest_ fits in my vocabulary. It isn't _me_ – and I'd be utterly lost if… if…"

I release a deep – and final – breath as I run out of words to say. I glance up and see Malfoy staring at me as though I am a book laid open before him, and all of the sudden, I feel naked and raw and so uninhibited. "Is that so wrong? To want him to want me as me and not as someone he wants me to be?"

He shakes his head, "Of course not. It's Weasley; he has the intellect of an ape – very primitive and rusted – and we all know what a pompous arse he is – "

Snorting, I ask him, "And what makes you think you're better than him?"

Malfoy glares back – his teeth clenching, the inside of his cheek flinching, and his dried lips quivering. He remains quiet, and after a moment, he mutters, tearing his gaze away, "The fact that I never strongly denied it. Weasley, however - "

I breathe in – the impact of his truth slamming against my truth, and I know – as much as he does – that he is right in this matter. "I know," I whisper with a tight-lipped smile, "But he's my boyfriend – and I…" I croak at the words that are supposed to follow but the letters seem to be trapped in a barbed wire surrounding the column of my throat, and I can't make myself say it.

 _Love him_ , I tell myself. I love him. Even if we fight more than we kiss, I still do.

Hiding my face behind my hands, I groan out loud in anguish and choke back the anger, the shame, the guilt, the doubt down to my stomach where I can hide them.

Malfoy still looks at me expectantly - waiting and watching.

I stammer: "Gods, I… I don't know what to do."

I peek through the holes between my fingers and watch as Malfoy leans closer and narrows the distance between us, "If anyone in this world would know what to do, it would be you." A smirk reappears on his lips, and maybe – just maybe – things would be alright.


	3. Three

**Author's Note:** Hello, guys! I know, I'm late, and I'm sorry. I've been busy finishing my requirements for work, so it took a little while to do some finishing touches on this chapter. Good news: I've started writing the Chapter 20 for Breathe Again, and made some progress. Bad news: It'll take a few more weeks before I post that. So sorry.

Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am _still_ looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution (who constantly worries about me, and for that, I am genuinely thankful for this beautiful person), Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Three**

"When Draco learns the inevitability of feelings"

.o.O.o.

 _"_ _I've been cold, I've been merciless  
But the blood on my hands scares me to death  
Maybe I'm waking up today"_

 _(I'll be good, Jaymes Young)_

.o.O.o.

May 2002

The Burrow is, as always, boisterous and wild and crowded with people.

It is a normal Sunday – in which old friends and co-workers have been invited for lunch to celebrate the end of the Second Wizarding War.

An extendable tent stands out in the backyard where most of the guests are gathered, drinking and eating and talking, and I lean against the farthest post, holding a half-full glass of pumpkin juice in my hand.

My feet ache, trying to remember how long I've been standing in these miserable five-inch stilettos that Ginny forced me to wear – and even if I liked the fact that Ron spent a whole good minute to gawk at me, or specifically my legs, I can still feel the rigidity of my knees about to break.

As I cast a cushioning charm on my feet to ease the pain, an exaggerated roar of laughter erupts from the middle of the crowd. I look ahead and see Ron huddled between his mates with one arm around Seamus, and the other hand grasping a bottle of beer.

Ron arrived last night from Quidditch camp. It was around half-past midnight when he came, standing outside my front door with a large duffle bag in one hand, his broom on the other, and a cheeky grin.

It wasn't the first time he'd done this, and I doubt it will be the last – but if anything, I'm happy he came home. None of us - family and friends - were sure whether he'd come home for the party since we hadn't received any owls lately, but when I saw him, I immediately threw my arms around him and inhale his familiar scent as though I've been deprived of air.

I remember -

I shake off the thought, exhaling.

Sweat drips across my skin. The air thins as the guests fill in the tent, and so I decide to take a walk. I push through the crowd and go outside.

As I manage to walk across the wheat field, the laughter and the chatter ebb into a hazy background noise, overwhelmed by the whistling wind. My dress flies behind, and I tug the hem of my cardigan – bracing myself against the chilly air – while a few of my tamed curls brush on the side of my face.

A scraping noise disturbs the quiet atmosphere, making me glance back and find Draco walking in my direction. I turn to completely face him as he stops to stand next to me.

He wears his casual suit with his hands pushed deep into his trouser pockets and armed with a questioning look. The late afternoon sun shines on him, giving his pale hair a soft glow and his face a light shadow.

Squinting, I ask him, "What are you doing here?"

"Obviously, I followed you – because, honestly, there aren't many sensible people to talk to in that tent," he declares, and the orange horizon fading behind him.

Silence befalls us again.

He remains still, darting his eyes across the wide wheat field. I only gaze at him, seeing the involuntary movements contorting his face.

He looks… troubled, I think. A frown forms on my face, and before I can ask him anything, Draco spoke first.

"Weasley seems to be enjoying himself, though. I wonder what he and his mates are laughing about," he remarks. "Tell me – does Weasley always leave you like this?"

A gust of wind blows through our way again, and a few more curls fly over my head again, so I brush them back with a hand.

The smile on my face distorts. I stutter, choking on a mix of jumbled syllables carelessly tumbling out of my mouth. I look away with a sigh.

I say, fiddling with the hem of my cardigan, "He's away for months. He doesn't have the luxury to see our friends as often as I can – so it doesn't really matter to me."

A snort escapes him, and I catch scepticism visible in his light-shaded eyes. I lace my fingers, twisting and knotting and wringing, and the air in my lungs insufficiently scarce.

"What about you? Doesn't he miss you at all?" He raises his brow at me inquisitively.

I look at anything - and everything - in attempts to avoid looking at his eyes. "Don't think I didn't notice because I did. I'm not blind, and certainly not stupid, to see that it didn't even take him a few minutes after you arrived to leave you and start laughing with his mates – "

"It's fine, Draco. We're fine – we're… we're working it out – together," and I look back to Draco to find him already looking at me, "…we aren't perfect, you know, and like every other relationship, we struggle. He has some problems that he needs to deal with, and so do I. We're… okay, I guess. It will take some time, I'm sure, but we'll be fine."

"You know," Draco hinted, "No one would blame you if you – you know – got tired…" I look back at him, frowning deeply, but his look is fixated on the field.

"What – " I stutter and let out a nervous laugh, "It's not… I'm not – that's not why I'm staying. I'm not doing this because I'm scared of hurting his family or Ginny or Harry… The reason why I'm still here is that, for some unbelievable reason, I love him. Very much so."

"Even if he leaves you for his mates?"

Rolling my eyes, I huff, "Yes - of course, I do. And as I said, it doesn't matter to me." The words taste like rotten fruit in my mouth, and I find the open space as a better view to look at. I watch the wheat sway along to the direction of the wind, the noise behind us echoing, and both of us standing still.

"It should, Granger."

"I know," I whisper, letting out a deep breath and swallowing the lump lodged in my throat.

I look up and watch as Draco stare blankly into space as though he'd gotten lost in his own unconscious.

Raising a brow, I ask, "So, what's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" He glances down at me, narrows his eyes, and then folds his arms protectively over his chest.

"The fact that you're asking that is what I mean," I tell him – rolling my eyes at his denial. He snorts, and a cheeky smile appears on my face. "Look – we've been friends for almost a year now, and I tell you everything – "

" – no, you don't, Granger – "

Okay, well maybe not. I give him an apologetic look, "Alright, fine – but we both know that you know me better than Ginny and Harry combined."

He scoffs, though slightly agreeing with what I said. His arms tighten its fold over his chest as though putting his barrier back up.

"…and we both know that I know you better than all of your Slytherin friends. Or Mother – "

He draws in a sharp breath. I keep waiting.

I can see the clouded look in his eyes – lost and drifting in his thoughts. "You can tell me, you know, whatever it is that's been bothering you all afternoon." I watch him turn his face away as though I've caught him in a lie.

The wind shifts and the wheat dance in the other direction while we both stand still in complete silence. A few stray curls fly by my face again, lifting a hand to tuck them behind my ear.

I glance at him again, and from the corner of my eye, I see the pained look on his face – as though he carries a burden, weighing him down, down, and down under the ground – and I sigh.

"Do you hate my family?" He asks – the question springing out of nowhere.

My mouth hangs open as I fail to form the right words because I don't know what the right words are. He looks down at me. I feel his warm grey eyes fixed on me and I look ahead, avoiding his stare.

"Do you hate my mother? My father? For – for what happened in the Manor, or what they did to you, or what my mother still thinks of you - "

"I don't – " I begin, but I feel each letter of the word trap in my throat, along with every breath that I take. Memories start to flash in my mind, too fast and too soon, and I can't stop them – losing control and spiralling down into the ocean to drown and sink and die. But I look up at him and breathe out. "I don't… know, Draco. I'm sorry – "

Draco tears his gaze from mine. But I didn't fail to notice the hurt, the shame, and the guilt masking his eyes as he looks away. I raise a hand to touch his shoulder, only to pull them back as if I've been burned, and so I look back to the wheat field.

In between our silence, I can hear him inhale and exhale as much as I can feel the weight on his shoulders getting heavier.

I stare into the setting sun when he finally says, "The Wizengamot finally ruled my father's sentence. He shall be given the Dementor's kiss next week, Saturday – and I… they're asking me to be there."

Looking back up, I catch his eyes – lost and almost as red as the burning sun – before I reach up and pull him into a hug. My arms tighten around him as his own snake around my waist – and together, we stand there, holding each other for what seemed like hours.

I hear him - feel him breathing down my neck. Shallow and fast and breaking like glass.

I whisper to him, "I'll be there with you, okay? I promise – "

"You don't have to – "

"No," I insist and push back. He bows his head but I cup a hand against his cheek to pull his face back up. I look at him straight in the eyes and say, "It doesn't matter to me. What matters is you, Draco. He is still your father despite his methods and failures to act like one – but you have memories of him, and he matters to you, and you matter to me. I'll be there with you, I promise…"

"I hate him, you know, so much that I… but I – "

"It's okay to have feelings, you know," I remind him – just as I remind him every day – and he meets my eyes again with a glimmer of hope in them. I smile. "To feel something other than hate – maybe love, who knows? It's what makes us human – "

Draco snorts, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't say anything at all. He steps back from me, and we both hear someone calling out from the Burrow.

I glance at the house and I see Ron – his face red as his hair – waving his arm to gesture me over. He stands not very far from the tent, his hands placed on his waist, and a glare directed at us.

Sighing, I look back at Draco and say, "I should go. He's – "

Draco glares back at Ron before meeting my gaze again, and he grumbles, "Well, we wouldn't want to ruin the evening by angering the Weasel. We both know what happened the last time – " I send him a pointed look, which eventually fades as soon as I see him smirk.

"I'll catch you later, Malfoy," I smile.

He nods in understanding; although, I notice a hint of disappointment in his gaze before he looks across the wheat field. I wait for him to look back at me, ignoring Ron's impatience behind me, before I start walking back to the Burrow.

I take one last glance to see Draco still looking into the open space with his hands buried in his trouser pockets – and the last light of sun beaming right at him.


	4. Four

**Author's Note:** Helloooooooo! Oh good God, I've received so many positive reviews on this story, and I'm absolutely delighted! Thank you so much! Your reviews mean so much to me, especially when you personally message me about it on Tumblr, email, or private message!

Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am _still_ looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. As of now, I am communicating with two new alpha-readers and I'm definitely excited to work with them; so yay, welcome to my creative bubble! Again - ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!

So let's get on with it. Here is the new chapter as promised! Enjoy!

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Four**

"When Draco requires a companion"

.o.O.o.

 _"You can say goodbye_  
 _Only to find you've been alone right from the start_  
 _So what am I fighting for?"_

 _(Is there anybody out there?, Secondhand Serenade)_

.o.O.o.

December 2002

I hear nothing.

My breaths quicken – and I can feel all their gazes, burning through and through like a flaming iron poker, as my body freezes in place. I exhale, and the air coming out of my nose is hot.

I look back to the servant who rushes to clean the shattered wine glasses from the marble floor before I scramble out of the nearest doors.

The smell of frozen air welcomes me as I arrive outside. Their stares – their look of disgust as if I'm the lowest piece of dirt under their shoes - I can still feel it. Branded me with a name so fast that it wouldn't be possible for me to refuse.

How… how could I let this happen – I don't know.

I let out a deep breath as the breeze of ice-cold atmosphere wraps around me like a warning. Casting a simple warming charm, I continue to pace back and forth across the wide snow-covered balcony, fingers fiddling like tightropes, holding and gripping and twisting in fear that I might fall once I let go.

I throw my head back in rage and see nothing but sleet of snow falling, and for a moment, I've forgotten what –

My trance breaks at the familiar sound of classical music, and the laughter, and the chatter – all at once happening while I'm here outside, walking frantically, and a heavy stone seems to be weighing inside my stomach.

Groaning, my feet involuntarily moving around the floor, I clench my hands - nearly drawing blood by how deep I dig my nails against my palms - and I can feel my face growing hotter.

 _I've had enough_ , I hiss at myself. _I'm stretched and torn and_ done _… just done –_

I remember a woman gossiping to her colleague – lowly yet loud enough for me to hear – and I detect the blatant disgust in her tone, " _I thought she is dating that Weasley – the one who plays Quidditch? Why in Salazar's name would she even come here? Is she cheating on her boyfriend –_ "

I was sitting by one of the dining tables, waiting for Draco to return, and I gripped the tablecloth around my hands as tight as I possibly could - refraining from reaching my wand and hex them to oblivion.

As the two women continued their mindless gossip behind me, I tried to listen to the music, and watch the guests dance across the ballroom, and think about the project report that I have to submit tomorrow on the –

" _…hypocrite!_ " I heard another woman gasp, " _I dare say she only associates herself with Draco for his fortune. The Weasleys are all dirt poor – Merlin, they can't even afford to buy a proper house. All they have are those_ atrocious _boxes._ "

The statement was followed by a high-pitched shrill that resembled a laugh.

I sigh as I remember taking a deep breath and forcing myself to swallow the bitter snarks bubbling up in my throat right at that moment.

" _She has quite the nerve to attend, don't you think?_ _This ball is exclusively for the elite members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and she is nothing but a_ mudb _–_ "

I stomp my heel, a screech breaking out, as I remember what happened after that.

I didn't mean to cause a scene – in fact, I avoided it – but as soon as I got up, my body slammed into an unsuspecting servant. The silver tray he was carrying flipped, the wine glasses flying and falling and cracking like bones splitting –

A shaky sigh escapes my lips, pressing my hand against my mouth and pushing back a sob.

 _What was I thinking? This is insane_ , I think.

I knew then when Draco asked me to be his date for his mother's Christmas Ball, this idea reeked of foolishness and utter stupidity – but I never thought that I'd actually agree.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I keep on pacing, my fingers stretched and frozen and rubbed red, and I can feel my lungs deflating rapidly as though there isn't enough space for more air.

I let out a soft sob. A tear slides down my cheek, releasing an enraged hiss, "This is mad – no, this is… Merlin help me. I had one job! You had one job, and that is to ignore them and smile and dance and just… _be there_. But what did you do – you had to lose it – "

My chest swells as I breathe in, ignoring the snow that gathered around the hem of my dress. I let out a shaky whimper, and the sound of my incoherent sobbing is overtaken by the wind and the music coming from the ballroom.

"Oh, Godric – why is this happening?" I ask myself – sitting on the edge of the balcony and allowing an exhausted breath to escape. "I can't believe this is – "

"Why are you talking to yourself?"

A deep voice calls out in the dark; looking up, I find Draco standing a few feet away in his robes, hands in his pockets, and his eyes looking right at me. I'm not surprised to see him out here, in the cold, with me; I knew he'd come looking for me once he realised that I've left - and now, here we are.

I feel the tear stains drying on my cheeks as the wind continues to blow harsher and colder, yet the weight on my chest still as warm and as heavy as my shoulders feel.

I shake my head, waving a hand dismissively and avoiding his eyes completely.

He takes a step closer, the soles of his expensive dragon-hide shoes scraping against the floor.

I lace my fingers, resting the back of my hands on my lap, tired of pulling and stretching and twisting it, before I look up again.

Our eyes met – his filled with conviction, mine filled with anger and shame – but neither of us breaks the contact.

I snicker – my chest burning, finding breathing to be intolerably painful, as if someone set a fire inside my lungs, "I told you – this is incredibly mad…"

Rising from the edge, I begin pacing again as though my feet never got tired of walking back and forth. "W-what – what were we thinking? This… we're clearly out of our minds here, Draco! I mean – this is obviously the worst idea ever – "

Draco raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you look at me like that," I say, pointing a finger at him. "You didn't see what… what happened inside – and how those people looked at me like I-I'm… Gods, I can't honestly believe I agreed to come here."

I let out a dry laugh. "I mean, your mother alone is capable of dousing my drink with the Draught of Living Death without my notice. Nor yours. What more in a room full of people who see me the same way as her?"

The length of my throat tightens as I miserably fail to contain my emotions.

"Of course she is," Draco huffs, "She is both a Black _and_ a Malfoy – "

"Then," I screech, my voice at breaking point, "I don't know why you think this is such a good idea!"

With a heavy breath, I glare at him and fold my arms protectively. A few loose curls from my tight bun fly by my cheeks and I tuck them away.

"I… I respect your mother – " he snorts, but I ignore him, " – but she makes it hard for me to keep doing this… to be friends with you…"

Immediately, Draco snaps his head to look at me - a mix of confusion and horror swirling in the depth of his grey eyes.

"A-are you saying what I think you're saying?" He asks, his words stumbling out unprepared. Taking another step, he leans to me – his breathing fast and warm – and I can feel my own words trapped in my throat. "Are you telling me that we can't be friends anymore? Is that it?"

" _What?_ " I ask, maintaining a high tone but ultimately failing at that.

My eyes widen at his assumption, and I let out a scoff, sensing the anger rising up in my throat before I take a step of my own. "Is that how you _really_ think of me? That I-I'm just going to end this friendship because your mother refuses to acknowledge me? If so, then you never knew me at all!"

Throwing my hands up in anger, I turn around to avoid his face, and not even waiting for a reply, I turn back again to face him, "Tell me – if Ron tries to convince you to stop seeing me, would you have done it?"

He opens his mouth to answer but I hear no words coming out.

I ask again, firmer this time, " _Would you?!_ "

"OF COURSE NOT!"

A sigh of defeat passes through his mouth as exhaustion also begins to take a toll on him. "Of course not, Granger. No one – I mean, _no one_ – can make me stop seeing you except _you_. Not Potter, not Weasley, and not even my own mother – "

"It's the same for me," I tell him. He turns his face away as though he feels ashamed to see me, but as I move closer, he glances back to me. "That's not… I'm not saying that we should stop being friends – and we know that that is stupid, and we are anything but that, being two of the brightest students in our year – but what I mean is that I also get hurt. I'm not invincible to pain, I'm human after all, and so are you.

"I came here," I go on and take his hands in mine, "because you asked me to. I wouldn't have come here if your mother asked because for obvious reasons, I don't trust her. You asked me to be here as your date because you're exhausted of being passed around to pureblood witches with the brain-size of a peanut."

Draco looks up. "What do you want me to do, then?"

"Nothing," I answer, a smile finally bending my red-coated lips, "Just… _be here_. Be my friend as much as I am your friend. I can never ask for anything else. But I tell you, and I know that you agree with me – this is undoubtedly a terrible idea. Honestly, what were we even thinking? Trying to civilise these people from their own ancient pureblood dogma?"

I look at him pointedly, and he returns it with a smirk, and I feel his hand closing around mine.

"You're right," he says in a calmer tone. "This is bloody mad. We are completely out of our minds. But since when did we ever care about what people think?"

"I know. But we don't always have to charge into battle, waving the flag of civility and decency and talking about equal rights – there will always be people who will oppose us… _this_ , especially this friendship." Pausing, the smile on my face falters into a tight-lipped one. "Look, I fought in the war, so did you, and I realise now that it is absolutely wrong to think that we can change how they think – because that's not how this works, you know; we cannot force them to believe or agree with us the same way that they cannot force us to believe or agree with them. It's just the way it is…"

Draco tilts his head up. He releases one of my hands and lifts his own to rub the clouded look from his eyes, before turning back to me, with his grey irises a little red but clearer.

"Okay," he nods and presses his lips together, "I'm sorry – if I forced you to come here…"

"What? Of course _not_!" I chuckle before softly hitting him on the back of his head. He responds with a laugh and runs his hand through his pale hair. "Stop thinking like that – it only makes me think you don't know me at all. A year of being friends, and you still think that I have no will of my own. I came here because you asked me to – nicely if I may add. I came here to support you. I came here because I wanted to…"

I pause again, the quiet gently sinking in for a moment before I add, "Besides, you would've done the same for me. We're friends, and this is what friends do – "

"What – go on a _date_?"

"No, you _arse_ ," I giggle as I hit him on the shoulder, "Support each other. And please, as if I was going to miss seeing your mother's face when she sees us together. She looked like she was about to tear the whole house apart because a mudb – "

" _Don't_ call yourself that," Draco hisses, glaring at me this time.

"Fine," I roll my eyes before continuing, " – _Muggle-born_ walks into her home. She can't even welcome _and_ insult me at the same time."

Draco laughs out loud – this time, unreserved and uncontrolled – and I let out a giggle too.

Looking down, I exhale in relief. "Thank you, Draco, for being my friend. Adds colour to my boring life."

Draco snickers. "If your life is so utterly boring, then I must ask you what do you make of Weasley's existence?"

I slap his arm. He winces, giving me a questioning look as if he didn't say anything wrong. Narrowing my eyes, he argues, "Please – we both know that your boyfriend is the laziest, the most unfortunate, and the least passionate man that we know."

"He's…" I begin – but my voice cracks as I find myself with no words at Draco's statement. I sigh and shrug, "He's trying to figure it out. He has a good career as a Quidditch player – "

"Yes," Draco drawls, "but that won't last forever, you know? There are rules in Quidditch such as age limits – and once he reaches that age, what would he do then? He still lives in his parents' home. Sometimes, of course, you let him sleep in your flat. But you know that he has to get his shit together – "

"He will, Draco," I insist. "He will. I trust him, and I'll be here to support him no matter what." A disbelieving hum erupts from Draco's mouth; though he says nothing else. "Look, can we have _one night_ in which we don't talk about this? Come on, we should get back inside – "

Draco frowns, shock evident in his eyes, "What – you still want to go back inside? They'll keep on talking – "

"I thought you said, we didn't care about that," I say, flashing a smile. He narrows his eyes at me. "If we stay here and hide, they might as well claim that they've won, and I'm not having that. I'm not a bloody coward - "

"You aren't," Draco says, still not moving. "Besides, I thought you said, we shouldn't always charge into battle – "

"Well," I drawl, my smile turning into a cunning smirk, "There are always other ways to fight a battle. I call this – doing whatever the hell we want and not giving a damn about it. Like I said, it's just the way it is."

The crease between Draco's eyebrows deepens in confusion.

I unsuccessfully try to suppress a giggle; my worries slowly ebbing away as I watch him. "Come on. I'd rather not walk in there alone. You are my date, after all," I say, linking an arm around his. I lean up and kiss his cheek, and together, we walk back inside the ballroom.


	5. Five

**Author's Note:** I know it's advance, but I'm moving the update schedule every Thursdays, Eastern time, since it's my only rest day. Gah, I'm still adjusting to my new working environment, so it might take a little more time for me to get some writing done. It's a pain, I know, believe me. But hopefully, in the next few months, I'll be able to adjust well and have more time to do stuff.

Anyway, before we go ahead, I would like to re-announce that I am _still_ looking for extremely eager alpha-readers to check on a few other stories that I'm currently plotting. Ships are either: Draco/Hermione or Sirius/Hermione. A major benefit is that you will get a firsthand glimpse of my stories before I even post it. If interested, send me a message through here or Tumblr (whichever is more convenient) and we'll discuss the necessary details. Thank you so much!

And of course, thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Five**

"When Draco develops an obsession with beer"

.o.O.o.

" _And now, here I am  
_ _I feel numb, on the fence, on the run  
_ _Spill my guts, what an act  
_ _I am sad but to me, I'm lovely sad"_

 _(Lovely Sad, The Maine)_

.o.O.o.

April 2003

"I should have told you a long time ago."

Draco faces the city – bright lights of Muggle London blinking like fallen stars on a blanket of blackness – before he lifts his beer to his mouth.

He always complains about how awful it tastes yet he drinks at least four bottles at night. Ironic, no?

I haven't talked to him in about a month. Neither of us sent any owls or Floo calls or anything at all since that day - nothing, really; well until tonight when he knocked on my front door at half-past ten in the late evening, and since then, we have been sitting here quietly for over an hour.

I huff, trying to suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling out of my throat, "Yes - well, it's about time you realise that, don't you think?"

He sighs in defeat.

"I just… I was being selfish, you know," Draco begins – and even in the dark, I can see the flushed look on his face as his hands began gesturing frantically. "I only wanted some time of – you know – peace and quiet before the press begins making an issue about my personal life."

"You're Draco Malfoy," I say and give him an obvious look. "You are _cursed_ not to have peace and quiet – and please, your mother made a whole lot of noise about that in the Prophet. Even she isn't very supportive of your peace and quiet."

He pauses. I watch him from my seat, his back straightened and rigid, his shoulders flexed, and his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. Both of us fall into a dreading silence, and I've never felt as uncomfortable as this - not when I'm with him.

"Mother dotes on her, you know," says Draco, turning back around and leaning against the edge, "She was actually more excited than I was when I told her about Astoria."

Huffing, I reply, "Well - how can she not? Astoria is beautiful, rich, and most importantly, a _pureblood_. Next thing we know - your mother will be sending out wedding invites - "

"Oh for Heaven's sake," Draco groans and buries his face in his hands as I chuckle darkly.

Taking the cup of tea from the glass table, I take a careful sip and let the warm liquid swim in my mouth a little longer before swallowing. "And what were you thinking telling me in a very public place – a restaurant, really?"

Draco smirks, "I thought that with your high moral principles, you would consider _not_ hexing me in public – in front of my girlfriend – and so you didn't, which I'm very thankful for, by the way."

Snorting, I say: "I can still do it, you know." I taunted him with a look; however, he remains quiet while glancing down at his feet.

As the silence stretches, I ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

My heart skips a beat as I manage to choke back the rest of the words that should've come after that question.

His eyes to meet mine, carefully looking.

I realise how stupid it sounded, so I slouch back against the seat and release a defeated sigh. "Look, I'm sorry - it doesn't matter, forget about it..."

I look away – unable to meet his eyes and show him the guilt currently swelling in my chest. I wasn't mad at him for dating. I was mad that he kept her a secret as though he couldn't trust to tell me about it – and I felt awkward sitting there spotting the colour of bliss in his eyes vivid and pale and unbelievably raw with emotions while looking right at her.

I can still remember how my heart burned – so, so, so painfully warm – and not knowing why; and so I sat there for two hours – trying to listen to Astoria talk about anything and everything, nodding, smiling, and watching – because I had no idea what to say or what to do.

Even when he arrived at the restaurant, Draco introduced the beautiful woman standing right next to him, " _Hermione – this is my girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass_." I switched my gaze from him to the smiling witch – and she looked nearly perfect.

My mouth hung open, trying to come up with words – a retort, a snort, a laugh; Merlin, anything – but ultimately, I had nothing.

" _Oh_ ," I mouthed, thinking in silence for a moment before exclaiming, " _Oh! Oh, right – I'm so sorry. It's nice to meet you_ – "

I offered a hand for a shake, and she took it, and I gestured for them to take a seat, to which they accepted without hesitation.

I draw in a breath.

"I trust you, Granger," he suddenly says, which brings me back to where I sit.

I look at him, wide-eyed. I can almost hear him breathing over the loud city noise that currently fills our senses. And I wait for him to continue.

"I know that I don't – that I don't talk about me… and I apologise for making you feel like I don't trust you – because Merlin knows that I do. Gods, I do – so much – and you are really the only person that I trust in this whole world…"

His eyes meet mine – grey and shining like the city lights behind him, "But I just – I wanted something that only I knew for at least once in my life… even for a short time… and honestly – that felt good, you know."

I open my mouth but no words come out, so I reply with a nod.

Draco mumbles and throws his head back with a chuckle, "We were happy – in those four months of silence – but really after everyone knew, they made it their bloody business… and Astoria – Merlin forbid, she loves the attention – but I… I hate it."

He lets out a sarcastic laugh – and I keep looking at him, waiting, watching, wondering.

"It reminds me of… of the war – and all the publicity and the attention and the looks and the fucking whispering," he says through his gritted teeth.

The weight inside me sinks me harder against my seat. He places an arm over his chest and rubs a hand over his tired eyes.

I pull my knees to my chest, allowing my feet to hang on the edge of my seat, and consciously curl a finger around a strand of hair.

Looking down, I hear the crack in my own voice as I say: "I-I'm sorry. I… I didn't think about it like that – and I-I should've known, I should've understood. But instead, I am trying to be - I don't know, so mad at you for… honestly, I'm not even sure – Gods, I..."

The corner of his lips tweaks into a tiny smile. I chuckle quietly – feeling the heat rushing all over my cheeks so fast – and soon I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. I don't even know why I'm laughing – but he returns me a slightly wider smile.

"Guess we're both at fault, then," Draco remarks.

I nod – rolling my eyes.

"That is a first, isn't it? Well – cheers to that." He crouches and takes another uncapped beer. He opens it and takes a mouthful. "Merlin's beard – how do Muggles drink this atrocity?"

I laugh at him again. I take my tea and join him in his drinking.

The silence surrounds us again – overwhelming the car passing by, the loud bickering of the couple living right under my flat, and every noise you can hear in the city.

"Do you love her?" I ask once I've finished my tea. He shoots me a questioning look – asking where the hell did I drag that question from – before he sets the half-empty bottle back on the floor. "It's a simple question, Malfoy – "

"You know that that is never a simple question," he says – pointing a finger at me. With a pause and a deep breath, Draco shrugs and continues, "Truthfully – I don't think that I've ever been in love before to know what that is. How about you – do you _still_ love Weasley?"

"I…" The words hitch in the back of my throat. I used to be certain – and I knew how much I loved him and how much I was willing to give – but now… I'm not sure. I don't know anymore.

I try to think what went wrong, and how we turned into a fire fueled engine - ready to burn everything, along with ourselves - and we've been spiralling down, fast and unstoppable, and our fragmented story so close to reaching its end.

"I don't know…" I whisper, eyes downcast and brimming with tears. A few drops fall to my bare knees. I let them slide down my legs. I let my arms hug my knees tighter. I let my heart burn and constrict and die –

I know that he can hear me – the quiet sobs, the heavy intakes of breath, the sniffling, even the shaking – but I also know that he only lets me cry. He doesn't tell me to stop because he knows how much it hurts to hide everything inside – and even if only for him, he allows me to cry and break.

All the gods know that I don't want to talk about it. If it is even all possible, I'd avoid it entirely. But I need to; the rusty gears in my stomach grinding against each other, reminding me of how cowardly I've been for months - Merlin no, years.

Looking up, I meet his grey eyes – waiting and watching – and I tell him: "You know – when Harry proposed to Ginny, I began thinking about us. About Ron and I. And I… I realised that five years have gone by and even if I tell myself every single day that someday he will learn to love me as much as I love him, I've never really had that assurance. I've been lying to myself all along and I've gotten so bloody good at it that I start believing myself – " I hiccup and sniffle, " – and… _fuck_ , I don't know. I don't know if I still love him or if I can still wait for him or if I want to stay or leave. All I know is that I'm tired – of this whole thing."

I release cracked sobs and allow more tears to fall. Then, I remember him – his face as red as his thick hair, his calloused hands, his chapped lips, his freckles… and I want to hate him. It would be so much easier if I did – but I can't.

Continuing, I say: "And I saw how you look at Astoria. I mean – he used to look at me like that. He would stutter and open his mouth – empty with words – and the glint in his eyes said enough about how he loved me. He used to brush a hand over my hair and play with my curls and whisper to me while we sleep. He'd smile and laugh with me – but now… I just – he wouldn't even owl me for months. And I-I-I'm bloody tired of waiting for something to happen – "

"End it."

My eyes widen – more tears threatening to fall – and Draco looks back at me without blinking. Two words – and my rambling stops, my words are nothing but a mix of incoherent sounds.

"Just end it. Stop this madness and end it. It's easy as that."

I bolt from my seat and snarl back, "No – it's _bloody_ not! I-I can't! And how dare you say that this is only madness – I loved him!"

I pace and throw my hands in the air as anxiety kicks in. My chest heaves in anger and sucks in all the air that I can breathe.

"I can't simply end it. We've… we've been together for a very long time – and I can't throw away five years of – "

I sigh. _What am I going to do?_ "I don't know, Draco. I'm terrified."

He hums in response. Taking back his beer, he takes another sip and savours it in his mouth. "Look – you know that no one would blame you if you end it. And I'll gladly punch Weasley for you."

I snicker a laugh and he smirks at me. I wipe the tear tracks off my face when I hear him say, "You know – in between your rambling, you said fuck. Have you noticed?"

I frown and try to remember. _Oh right. I did, didn't I?_

He smiles and raises his beer to me. "Glad to know you're not incorruptible." I smile back and watch as he takes his final sip – and we allow the night to be consumed by the city noise.


	6. Six

**Author's Note:** Hello, guys! Well, work is still as taxing as it can be - so I haven't been able to write anything in the last two weeks. But I'm sure you don't want to know what goes on at work, so let's skip that. So let me just: thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Six**

"When Draco takes a punch"

.o.O.o.

" _You can never say never while we don't know it  
_ _Time and time again  
_ _Younger now than we were before  
_ _Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go  
_ _Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go_ "

 _(Never Say Never, The Fray)_

.o.O.o.

November 2004

"Sit down."

Draco obeys and sits on the edge of the bathroom sink while holding an ice pack against the bruise on his chin.

I take a washcloth and rinse it with water – trying to ignore the sound of his wincing and hissing and trying _not_ to _Avada_ his arse. Instead, I try to focus on the water rushing through the faucet. The cold liquid sliding all over my hands, drenching the fabric between my hands, and I can slightly feel my hands shaking. I don't know if it is anxiety or anger – but I can feel it, and I don't know how to stop it.

Turning around, I take a step and stop in front of him before starting to clean the dried blood from his forehead. He hisses a curse as the fabric touches the open wound – but I ignore him, muttering, "You need to get this checked at St Mungo's – might need some proper healing."

I cast a silent _Scourgify_ to clean the bloodstains on the collar of his shirt.

He nods in response.

I move down to the massive blackened bruise under his left eye – the gears around his grey irises moving and shifting as he looks at me closely.

"Granger – "

" _Don't_ – please, not right now," I interrupt before he can say something else.

I look down to the washcloth in my hand before I hear him take a sharp breath. I remain still – standing there, holding the wet fabric in my hands, and looking down at our feet; while he remains still – sitting there, gritting his teeth in pain whenever he takes a breath and waiting.

Neither of us can say anything – not trusting the words to come out right. We let the quiet linger, and the party outside the bathroom still going like nothing happened. Like nothing went terribly wrong. But we both know that something did go horribly wrong –

After a moment, I throw the washcloth back into the sink next to him before I lean against the cubicle and I look up at him with so much control and anger and guilt.

I demand, "Why? Tell me – no, _make_ me understand what happened out there. Because I'm finding it so hard to – to – even know what the hell – what happened, Draco…"

I can hear my voice cracking with emotion – a combination of desperation and shame and anger and a lot of other things that I can't even name.

He looks down and grips the edge of his seat. Even his knuckles are bruised after trying to return the punches he received from Ron, and I want to touch them – but I… I can't.

Not now.

"Did you hear what he said – about us?" Draco asks – not even looking up.

"Of course I did – I was there!" I bark and draw in a deep breath as I try to desperately calm myself.

Exhaling loudly, I try to hold back the tears brimming on the edge of my eyes. Rage boils through my skin like an overheated kettle and begging to explode – and I'm losing control.

I continue, "I'm angry at him, yes – he had _absolutely no right_ to say those things to either of us – but you _threw_ the first punch!"

Draco finally glances up – eyes glaring and shooting daggers at me – before he snaps back: "And what? I _should_ just let that tosser call you names?! Even Potter was shouting at him – "

"Of course not!" I shout in reply, and I can feel my chest heaving in something – be it pain, grief, annoyance, or whatever. "But – you shouldn't have started it. You hit him – and… that's what frustrates me the most because you should've known better – "

He snorts at that. A sarcastic smirk tweaks on the corner of his lips before averting his gaze from mine.

"Well – I'm damn sorry for _not knowing any better_. I guess trying to defend your honour means so very little to you," Draco snarls and shakes his head.

He leaps from his seat and immediately turns toward the door. My heart quickly drops to my stomach -

I follow him and jerk him back by his elbow. "Stop – _just stop_!" I frown - my tears finally falling. I sniffle. "Of course I appreciate it, Draco, honestly! But – you can't always fight my battles for me. That… that was between me and him – you weren't part of it, you were just dragged in as much as Harry was – "

"Hermione," Draco says and turns to me. His grey eyes seem softer than how he looked at me earlier, and I wait for him to say something. "He called you a _whore_ and _a_ _dirty little mudblood_ – even if the latter was directed to me. How can you even expect me to just stand there and act like he didn't say anything? To _do nothing_?"

I open my mouth. Nothing. _What on earth am I going to say?_

It would be foolish to deny that what Ron said ten minutes ago didn't hurt – of course, it hurt. I can feel a set of knives currently plunged right into my chest and sunken deep into my heart and lungs while everything he said comes back to me like a harsh downpour.

In the span of five minutes, Ron managed to say things he'd never said to me before, things that I never even imagined of being called – _by him_ , no less. I hear his voice in the back of my head, echoing like a distant yell – a slur of name-calling and curses and angry shouting – and I can't help but release shaky sobs.

"Why – why would – he say that?" I cry and bury my face in my hands.

Salty tears stream down my cheeks as I continue to sob hysterically. My knees buckle, threatening to fall and break and crumble. My shoulders shake, and I feel rough hands touch them gently.

"I-I-I can't b-believe he said that. Was I wrong? Did I make a mistake by ending it – "

"Granger, stop – "

" – should have I waited for him? Did I… I don't know, Draco – this is messed-up," I crack into more sobs and the walls surrounding us seem to spin and tighten and close in. My breaths began to quicken – both shallow and rapid and short.

I remember everything – every second, every word, and every moment. I remember – Ron accusing and demanding to know why I came with Draco to the party; Draco clenching his fists as he tried his best to be calm and reasonable; Harry pushing back Ron when he started moving toward me; Ginny scolding her brother for having the nerve; Ron shouting and pushing as Harry tried to barricade himself between us; Draco throwing the first punch; Ron straddling Draco and punching as hard as he can – _how could I let this happen? This is all my fault._

"Granger – will you _please_ stop thinking before you give yourself an ulcer?"

The tear tracks on my face begin to dry, and my lips quiver, unaware of what to say.

"Don't say anything. Just listen – for once in your life," he exclaims.

I nod, completely not trusting my mouth to say the word without choking.

His eyes stare down into mine. "Remember what I said? That nobody would blame you if you ended it? No one does. Not Potter, not his redhead girlfriend, not anyone – "

I interrupt, "Ron does – "

"Well of course he does – but we can't really expect him to comprehend the situation, having so few functioning brain cells left in his airheaded skull, can we?"

I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow – _really?_

As he continues, "Look – I can't make you feel better because, in this friendship, that's your job. However – please tell me that my face did not take a beating for you to simply sink back in self-pity. That is so _not_ you, Granger – "

" – but the things he said… he told me t-that I'm too much. Too complicated… And maybe I am! I-I tried so hard to… make us work and fix us and keep us together – what if it was my fault, Draco? What if… if I asked too much? If I forced him to – " My eyes set to look at his, brimming with more tears.

"Stop. Just stop," Draco snaps - shaking his head. My mouth hangs open, and my heart climbs up from my chest and rests on top of my throat. "First of all – _nobody forced anybody to do anything_ , all right? If he wanted to end it, he easily could've – but he never said anything, did he?"

I try to say something – but he sends me a warning looking.

Continuing, he says: "Secondly – of course, you bloody _are_! Anyone who knows you very well can attest to your complications but… that is not – _never_ – a reason to take someone for granted. He could've told you, but he did the most cowardly thing by running away from you."

His chest rose and fell rapidly while he pauses – eyes wide and staring, and I find myself drowning in them – before he says calmly, "Weasley is an idiot – granted, the biggest idiot ever. And if he couldn't accept your complications, then he doesn't deserve to love you for them."

A sigh leaves my lips. The weight of my chest sinks lower to my stomach. How did it all come to this? How did everything fall apart so fast before I can even begin to fix it?

"Come on – Potter is probably sending out a search party for us already," Draco says – reminding me of the party outside the bathroom. His hands slide down to my exposed arms, sending shivers up my spine as he did.

He takes a step toward the door but, without thinking, I hold his hand firmly and stop him. He looks back at me in question.

"I'm sorry," I mutter and dragging my eyes down to avoid his look.

Silence befalls us.

Draco smirks and curls his lips. "Well – of course, I didn't do this for free." I glare at him – but my own mouth uncontrollably contorts into a tiny smile. He looks down, clearing his throat, and says: "I… I, um – look, don't think that I did this because I wanted to. I did this… because you're worth it. And if… if someone told me ten years ago that I'd, at the very least, be friends with you, I'd have them committed to St Mungo's – but I'm… I'm glad we're – um – friends… and you'd have done the same for me if someone calls me a Death Eater – "

"Because you are not – "

"And you, too, are not," Draco stresses – his words drilling and hammering, making a hard point. "You're _not_ anything Weasley called you – and if I knew you correctly, you also aren't someone who easily accepts this kind of accusations. Now if we've finally established that Weasley is the biggest moron on earth, I think it's time for us to return, don't you?"

Starting to walk again, I stop him. He turns to me with an annoyed look – but I press my lips together, assembling the right words to say.

"Thank you, Draco, for everything."

I watch as his mouth tweaks into an amused smile despite the cut on his lower lip. His face bruised and covered in purplish spots. He nods and looks away before taking a short glance back at me. "You're very much welcome, Granger," he says before walking out of the bathroom.


	7. Seven

**Author's Note:** Hello, guys! I'm back, despite how busy I am with work. It takes so much of my time, and I barely have enough sleep. Nevertheless, I remain loyal to all of you and still update on time. But the good news is, I'm adjusting well to my new workplace. I do hope that I'll be able to manage and divide my time so I can write more. Just a little bit more, guys! Lol. Okay, so anyway, let me just: thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo

PS. The Ao3 version of this fic will be posted in another time (when I have more time) due to a little glitch in my account that prevents me from logging in. Hence, I cannot upload the updates. Apologies for that.

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Seven**

"When Draco burns off his curtains"

.o.O.o.

" _And so it goes  
_ _One foot after the other  
_ _'Til black and white begin to colour in  
_ _And I know  
_ _That holding us in place is simply fear  
_ _Of what's already changed_ "

 _(Manhattan, Sara Bareilles)_

.o.O.o.

December 2004

Something felt terribly wrong.

The minute Blaise sent a fire-message, the certainty of that feeling solidified; and the minute I received it, I jumped to tell Melinda to cancel all of my appointments for the rest of the day.

And now - I stand just outside Draco's office door, paralysed in anxiety, and I can feel the sheer tingle of protective wards reverberating across the length of the wall. I force back the lump in my throat before I knock.

I wait. I hear nothing. No movements - and for a moment, I start thinking that something had happened to him physically, rendering him impossible to respond, but I set it aside and decide to try again.

This time, an audible groan sounds from behind the door. Generally, annoyed - but also laced with a hint of disappointment and betrayal.

"I told you - just _fucking_ leave me alone!"

"It's me, you ridiculous dolt," I interrupt. The shuffle on the other side stops, recognising the sound of my voice. "May I come in?"

Silence. All I can hear is my own breathing - steady, calm and patient, something I know he isn't.

A moment later, the tenuous magic delicately starts to wash away. I stay still, waiting; and soon, the door flings open, revealing a gaunt-looking Draco Malfoy - his usually perfectly combed hair is currently in a disarray of tangles, his face nearly white as a sheet, his shoulders slumped in exertion, but more than that, I see his eyes, bloodshot, red-rimmed, and concealed by those hauntingly dark circles contrasting his complexion -

"What are you doing here?" He sneers, breaking the quiet. I hear the quiver in his voice the way the sharp edges of a broken glass grates against his throat.

I clear my throat to say: "Well, don't you look… _dashing_?"

Shifting his gaze, Draco returns to his office and leaves the door as an unspoken invitation. He sits back on his elegant green upholstery with gold carvings, an elbow propped on an armrest and his chin rested on a hand. I see him looking intently on the tall bookshelf - apparently, unsuccessfully averting his red and swollen eyes.

The number of times I've been in his office can be counted on one hand; yet, in those few visits, I've been aware of Draco's orderliness when it comes to his personal space. Granted, he hated disorganization and sloppiness - hence, his wild distaste for Ron's habits and his fixation on getting my naturally bushy hair in place.

Except for this time.

The office, somewhat, looks as if a giant had shaken it upside-down; all of its contents, flying and falling and breaking. Documents that he'd once categorized in its topic and year now lay on the floor, some of it stained with shoe marks. The lamp that used to sit on one of the nearby desks has fallen - or thrown? - causing its delicate body to shatter into pieces. Random books scattered, two chairs overturned, several drawers pulled open, and good Godric - _is that curtain burnt off?_

I look back, prepared with a mouthful of words, and only to hitch a breath at the sight before me.

Draco looks as though he hasn't slept in weeks, ghosted with what-ifs and could-haves and should-haves, and the only solace he found is the empty bottle of Firewhiskey he now holds in his left hand. I wonder how much has he had this afternoon -

"Blaise called me," I say, after a few minutes of silence.

Draco snorts, not looking up. He shifts in his seat and leans back against the couch, eyes closed, holding the bottle tighter.

"Of course he did," he replies, "I threatened to cut off his nuts and feed it to him if he doesn't leave me alone. So in desperation - " he turns and points at me, " - he _summons_ you."

 _Coward_ , I smirk inwardly.

I sigh, crossing the floor toward him. Draco takes a suspicious glance at me but says nothing. I look up at the bookshelf and realise that it - too - has been… destroyed. Two rows of books collapsed in, sliding down, and a figurine has fallen to the ground.

"What happened to your curtains?"

His petulant eyes shift, narrowing into slits, taking my question as a form of offence; but I stand firm and fold my arms in defiance, waiting.

He mumbles, "It burned. Obviously."

"Yes, I know," I frown while leaning against the bookshelf, eyes still fixed on him, "Though, I doubt any person in his or her right mind would believe - not even blindly - that it spontaneously combusted. So tell me, how did it burn _exactly_?"

"Does it matter?" Draco snaps, yet his voice quivering, "It's not on fire now, is it?"

Sadness fills me as I stare at him - carefully, gently watching the slight twitches of his cheek; his dry lips parting as he exhales in exertion; his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, never wanting to let go, not now, not ever; and his eyes, those cold steel grey eyes that always seem so deep and lost and… I've never seen him like this before.

I feel a sharp pang hit me square in the chest, causing me to wince painfully.

The atmosphere in the room shifts uncomfortably. Silence prickling like a thousand needles in the back of my neck. We remain quiet for a long while - only breathing, watching, waiting for the shoe to finally drop.

As the quiet becomes too unbearable, I hear him release a heavy sigh. Draco pulls himself from his seat, crossing the room in long tiresome strides before casually looking back, asking, "Drink…? No? Fine, I'm having one because this day is too shite not to have one."

"Is that the reason why you missed two international meetings and a board discussion?" I ask, flashing a questioning look at him. Draco turns his head back, scowling. "Oh yes, Blaise told me about that too."

A mischievous smirk bends my lips.

"Son of Salazar," Draco groans, "Why can't he learn to leave me alone?"

Shrugging, I follow him to the liquor cabinet - my footsteps light and almost soundless against the mess of papers littering the floor of his office - and lean my backside against the edge of the furniture. I see his hands trembling violently as he pours himself a glass of bourbon, his grip tight enough to drain his skin off its colour.

"Because you're a menace when you're alone. The curtains can attest to that, I'm sure," I remark, eyeing him with a knowing gaze.

"I'm not going to hurt anybody - "

"We're not worried about _anybody_ ," I clarify, casting my eyes down to look at the floor, "We're worried what you might do to yourself."

Without looking up, I can feel the warmth of his burning gaze - too close, too deep - and I can almost imagine him frowning deeply, trying to read between my lines. I let out a breath of relief before flashing him a tight-lipped smile.

"What are you - " he begins, only to stop when our eyes meet again, realisation penetrating his stubborn skull, and a resounding chuckle erupting from his throat, " - oh, I see. So you've seen the papers, and you - what - decided to check me if I'm still emotionally intact - "

His voice cracks, failing to release the mixed-up emotions brewing in his chest. I take a step forward and see him closer, clearer. His entire body shaking with fear and guilt and shame, exploding into a series of strangled sounds.

The news of Draco and Astoria's separation spread like _Fiendfyre_ \- uncontrollable as if a wild epidemic that threatens to contaminate everything and anything - and just as before, he didn't tell me. Instead, I read about it last week on the front page of the Daily Prophet, nearly choking on my coffee while I sat in a Muggle cafe. The news didn't explain in full-detail about what happened, only that Astoria Greengrass is bound to leave London and move to America.

I thought about calling him; however, I fought against that urge and decided to wait. I sat idly for a day, and another and another, waiting for anything, but he never did. I was beginning to wonder if he even planned on telling me.

Until Blaise called me today.

"Draco - "

My own words falter in between incoherent sounds and gaps in thought, unaware of what to say or how to say whatever speech I've prepared myself to tell him. We both know that asking me for relationship advice would be catastrophic.

He waves a hand dismissively, listening to his own breathing, "She was here, you know, about two hours ago. She wanted to say goodbye before she left for America with her… well, her lover. And I didn't - no, I _couldn't_ stop her."

I inhale shallowly and look away, back to the large mess of books and torn scrolls and broken glasses - because they seem easier to focus on than seeing him. I wrap myself in a solitary embrace, attempting to comfort myself for whatever comes next.

Continuing, he says - tone still strained, broken: "I asked her before not to tell the press. I don't know how the Prophet knew; but before I could even stop it, it was already out there like poison - vicious and inevitable, burning away what I have left of her… of us."

"Do you blame yourself? For _everything_?"

I take a glance at him, seeing him whip his head toward me with a frown across his forehead, "Do I…? Of course, _I do_! How can I not?"

Draco begins pacing across the floor. He runs his hands through his pale hair, keeping it there, holding his head in place as if thinking that he might lose his mind.

"I mean - didn't you, when you and Weasley…"

With a flash of pain, I face toward the direction of the office door - away from Draco's gauging look - and find myself wanting to leave immediately. But I hold my ground, knowing that I can't leave, not now, not when he needs me most -

"I thought that we - " Draco confess, " - that she…"

 _\- was the one, I know_ , I think to myself. I thought - and at times, I still do - that Ron was the perfect ending to a romantic love story. I believed it, and for most of the five years I've been with him, I turned a blind eye to all the signs that I was wasting my time.

Draco huffs sourly, "But guess what a fool I was for believing that - "

"There isn't anything wrong with wanting that," I interrupt him.

Turning back, our eyes catch each other in one swift glance, and I look at him softly, gently, carefully as though one look would break him.

"I did too, remember? I held on for five years, even if I knew from the beginning how doomed we were. We… we were never going to work - Ron and I. I just hope I'd accepted it sooner."

A pregnant pause fills the distance between us. Only breathing, surviving.

"I wish," Draco begins and hitches a breath, "I wish I could wish her happiness - but that makes me sound like a fucking hypocrite, doesn't it? So I probably shouldn't."

I watch him. His shoulders seem steadier than they were earlier, the tension in his body slowly easing, and his once-cold look turning softer and warmer.

Finally, I ask, "What does your mother say about it?"

He snorts in response, throwing his head back and shooting me an incredulous look. He shakes his head before saying, "She's furious, of course. She wants me to get Astoria back - "

"But, doesn't she know what happened?"

"And - what - you think that will keep my mother from insisting that I marry Astoria?" Draco jeered - surprise with a taste of frustration hinted in his words, "That witch disregarded the fact that Astoria left me for some bloke she'd met on her trip to France, saying that her marriage with Father worked despite numerous accounts of extramarital affairs from - "

My eyes widen at the revelation, followed by a gasp, "What?! Your father was engaged in secret affairs - "

" - from _both_ parties," Draco finishes, snickering in visible disgust, "They both did it - so long as they keep coming home to the Manor and play the dutiful spouse. So if you ask me - no, I don't think _fidelity_ meant anything to them."

"That's - "

" - fucked-up…?" Draco supplied, showing off a slight smirk.

"I was going to say ' _revolting'_ , but that works too," I remark, closing the distance between us.

Reaching out a hand, I take his in mine, feeling him looking down at me before I look up to meet his gaze.

And I say softly: "Look, I don't think I'm in any position to say whatever optimistic bullshite you want to hear - because, honestly, it would be absolutely desperate of you to ask me for a relationship advice, knowing what happened between me and Ron. I mean, you know - "

I let out a nervous laugh, shaking my head and trying to untangle the string of words in my mouth, "Anyway, as I was saying, I'm sorry if I can't give you anything right now. But I'm here - just like you have been for me. Always."

Draco sighs, a genuine smile bending his lips, and nods in understanding. My eyes carefully flutter shut, the feeling of exhaustion pulling them down, and not long after, I feel his lips grazing upon my temple -

"Thank you, Granger."


	8. Eight

**Author's Note:** Hello, guys! Thank Merlin for giving me enough strength to update this fic. Okay, so let me just: thank you all so much for continuously reading this fic! I'm loving all of your positive remarks, it's unbelievable! It means so much to me, and I hope you guys stick around until the end! xoxo

PS. The Ao3 version of this fic will be posted in another time (when I have more time) due to a little glitch in my account that prevents me from logging in. Hence, I cannot upload the updates. Apologies for that.

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Eight**

"When Draco runs away from a wedding"

.o.O.o.

" _Take this sinking boat and point it home  
_ _We've still got time  
_ _Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice  
_ _You'll make it now_ _."_

 _(Falling Slowly, Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová)_

.o.O.o.

March 2005

Draco sits on the front steps of my apartment building, leaving enough space on his side for someone to pass on through. His legs are parted with his elbows perched on his knees, matched with a calm, yet drained expression on his face.

As I slam the door of the cab, which my muggle date insisted that I ride on home, it emits a sound that seems to pull Draco back to the present - a pair of lost and sad eyes glancing back up to acknowledge my presence.

A weak smirk bends a corner of his lips, trembling from the cold, "I assume your date was dreadful." He props his chin over a hand and watches me tiresomely.

"What, pray tell, made you think of that?" I ask, placing a hand on my hip in question.

"Well," Draco drawls, "if it had been a success, then you would've already found yourself sandwiched in his couch, or yours - though it would probably take a little longer for that to happen since you'd have to get rid of me first."

Sighing, I avert my gaze from his - attempting to hide the blush creeping up on my cheeks. I try to think of why it didn't work, or more specifically, why I didn't want it to work - but for that question, I'm not even sure I had the right answer.

I shrug it off, not wanting to dwell on it.

Clearing my throat, I decide the divert the subject: "Aren't you supposed to be in Theo's wedding - "

"I was."

"So, then why are you - _oh_ ," I say - immediately cutting myself off upon my realisation.

As I remain standing, I observe the dark circles under his eyes weighing due to lack of proper sleep – and I know that he didn't come here for a social visit; no – this is _desperation_. He needs me. What for – I have an idea, but I'm not sure.

Silence fills the gap between us, only to be replaced by the revving noise of Muggle cars driving by the street and a few people laughing and talking.

Neither of us speaks for a few minutes, either wanting to let the quiet sink in or wanting to find the right words to say.

I step closer, holding out a hand and mumbling, "Come on. Let's take a walk."

He tilts his head to look at me, surprise evident in his sleepless eyes. Instead of responding, he steps down to the curb and dusts himself off of dirt before offering an arm to me - which I take without a hint of hesitation, a faint smile bending my lips.

The atmosphere seems oddly dry and cold for this time of March, almost with no wind brushing at all. I don't know the time, but I suspect it was a few minutes past eleven in the late evening by now. And it feels so agonizingly slow as we stroll across the streets of Muggle London.

We walk in complete silence, engulfing us as we observe our environment - the people grazing and rushing to get home before midnight strikes, a soft breeze kissing my cheeks to a darker shade, the Muggle cars driving us by, the tall apartment buildings with only a few windows still lit, the bright, dotted stars littering around the moon like glitter -

None of us speaking, only breathing and touching and walking.

Reaching the first corner, I finally break the quiet - cutting it through with a raised, uncomfortable tone, "It wasn't… dreadful, you know, as you put it. It was actually quite nice - _he_ was nice."

"Why'd you come home, then?"

My eyes begin to narrow at his unspoken accusation, followed by a defensive hiss, "What - did you seriously think I'd sleep with a man after _one_ date?"

"Oh come on, Granger," Draco groans, rolling his eyes, "You're a grown woman, and it's totally normal to want it. Ever since you broke up with Weasley, you've buried yourself in work. I know _you_ \- and yes, you aren't the woman who would sleep with _any_ available man; hence, the dating - "

I let out a defeated sigh.

He's right, and we both know it. My arm becomes rigid - trying to hold him, hold myself together, preparing to fall, the way my heart has fallen into my stomach.

"That's not…" I choke, trying to argue despite knowing that I've lost. _There is no point, Hermione_ , I tell myself. "It doesn't matter. I don't even know the man. Or any man I've been on a date with for the last three months. I highly doubt we'll see each other again - "

"Yes - because, oddly enough, you always turn down their offer to see you again," Draco quips. I tear my gaze from him, but not before catching him raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

A storm brews inside my chest; in the far corner of my brain, a tiny voice reminding me that this man, walking beside me, knows me better than anyone. Better than Harry or Ron, despite them being my best friends, my first friends since I was eleven.

And even if I hadn't told him anything, he can easily read me like the back of his hand. And I to him.

I frown, tearing my arm from his as we both came across a tree planted on the sidewalk, "I don't know, Draco. It just… it feels wrong, you know, like I'm unknowingly betraying something - or some _one_? - as I sit there, laughing and being happy."

Draco doesn't say anything.

I look up at him, those beautiful grey eyes staring ahead into a blank space - seemingly deep in thought, yet I can feel his side steadily rising and falling as he breathes.

"I'm not entirely sure why I still went with it," I continue after a long moment of unbearable silence, "but it was terribly improper. I mean, he was… wonderful, good-humoured, and handsome."

My mind shifts to remember how he looked: deep brown eyes, clean-cut dark hair, neatly groomed and fresh-looking, sitting there on our reserved table, anxiously tapping his fingers as he waited for me. I immediately saw him when I came in, and throughout dinner, we only talked and laughed with such euphoria and excitement and… I couldn't help but smile to myself -

Except that it felt… wrong.

A sigh drags out of my mouth, before I say, "Or maybe the problem is me."

We stop dead in our tracks. I exhale and turn around to face him, the two of us standing still in the middle of an empty sidewalk. My hand slips from his arm and down to his hand, allowing my fingers to curl around his palm - the heat of his touch searing through my cold muscles.

Draco lowers his eyes at me, his eyebrows knitted in a frown and a strong look of disbelief flashing in his gaze, "What do you mean?"

"This has been my sixth date with six _different_ men." I pointed out, "Maybe there is something wrong with me. I'm probably cursed to never have a successful date or to marry or have children - "

A profound shade of pink tops my cheeks. My heart beats so loud and so hard, wanting to leap out and run away, to leave me here - frozen and petrified. I can feel my mind shifting through different thoughts, jumping from one to another, and no matter how I try to control it - I can't...

Watching his face, a chuckle escapes his mouth and a smirk curls at the end of his lips. Before I can argue, he raises his hand and says, "Okay - hang on a bit. It was only six dates; it doesn't necessarily mean that a twisted prophecy has been foretold that you will never date, nor marry, nor have children. You aren't the bloody Chosen One -

"Besides, they might not even be worthy enough to date you," Draco stubbornly insists, shrugging with his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "You are too precious to be tied down to some pathetic lump of a man who is _only_ wonderful, good-humoured, and handsome! Merlin, I'm already all of those things - "

I groan.

 _What an egotistical bastard_ , I think - yet a tiny smile slips across my face.

"And I'm supposed to be one sulking, not the other way around," Draco frets, a playful pout masking his face.

"Stop being such a child," I chide. Then I sigh, uncontrollably rolling my eyes, "Alright, fine. Tell me what happened at the wedding."

"You know what happened," Draco mumbles. He looks away, but not before I catch that troubled haze on his face.

"Didn't I just tell you to stop being such a child?" I smirk, feeling it grow wider and brighter. "And in case you've forgotten, I wasn't exactly at the wedding. I had a date, remember?"

 _A terrible one, that is._ I shake off the thought before it goes further.

Draco releases an exasperated sigh.

"She was there," he begins. My smirk develops into a grin, which I try to hide by biting my lower lip and ultimately failing at that too. He groans in frustration, "Oh don't look at me like that - _I know!_ I bloody… know. I expected it - I mean, Theo married Daphne; of course, she'd be invited - but I guess, I just… well, I hoped that she stayed in America, or whatever place she'd landed herself in."

Rubbing his face with a hand, I can see his cheeks turning a bit pinkish, either due to the cold or due to his confession, and despite the little distance between us, I can still feel his attempts to bottle the tension through his frigid shoulders and flexed muscles and closed fists.

Draco chuckles bitterly, "It was quite bearable during the bonding ceremony, and I only watched from afar while she sat next to her date - "

" - she brought someone?" Raising an eyebrow, I can't help the dark chuckle that slips out of my mouth. "Was it the same man? The man she left for America with?"

He shakes his head.

"No, it was a different bloke. Italian, I think," he mutters - eyes fixed on the ground, clouded.

"How'd you know?"

"Well, she… uh, came over and talked to me," Draco replies, another laugh tumbling out of his throat. It doesn't sound happy, rather it sounds… forced and broken, trying to find the slimmest bit of humour in this situation. He clears his throat and continues, "She introduced the man as her manager, I'm not sure; said she'd been hired to do some modelling for a wizarding couture in New York…

"I don't know what made me decide to leave. I just… did. I asked Blaise to tell Theo that I needed to go. He didn't ask why; he simply nodded and said he'd see me at the office on Monday," he went on - eyes downcast and hazy with a thousand thoughts running through his mind.

Silence. It is quiet, yet the atmosphere seems so restless and fraught.

Our bodies face each other. I stand a few inches shorter than him, and so I tilt my head up, eyes blazing with sincerity before I wrap my hand around his hand. His knuckles loosen as we touch. Draco moves his gaze around my face, looking for something -

"I thought… that it was okay, you know. That I'm better, that I can look at her without blinking. But I was wrong. I was so _fucking_ wrong," Draco stammers and chokes on the words that are slipping out of his lips without control, without hindrance, without care.

"And how did she look?" I hear my own voice crack as I ask - but I push it aside, reminding myself that it isn't about me. This is about Draco.

"Beautiful," Draco exhales. He shakes his head, smiling as he remembers her. "As always. Her long, luscious hair cascaded into a long river of blonde curls. Her face bright and… happier than I've ever seen her. Happier than she was with me."

I hitch a breath while he describes her.

Hope… I hear the longing and the hope in his words, dripping like sweetest honey yet tasting so bitter - and I want to take away his pain. His cheeks flinch, biting the inside of his mouth to keep himself from reaching his breaking point. And I know… he's close.

A crushing feeling suddenly grows inside me. I can feel the gears in my stomach moving and turning and twisting, and my balance sways as I stand in front of him. _What is this - what is happening?_ I ask myself, but even I don't know the answer.

I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing a smile to crack, "You know, I only realise now that we have something in common."

"If we did not have one in the beginning of this odd friendship, then I don't know why I still remained friends with you," Draco pointed out.

"As you were saying," I insist, glaring at him playfully, "our friendship revolves around rather strange circumstances - yet, here we still are. We are both lonely, and we fill our loneliness with the company of one another. I never truly told you this, but I am thankful to share my loneliness with you."

Draco smiles. He tries to hide it by looking away, but I see the end of his lips tweaking into a suppressed grin. Then, not very long, he turns back to me and promises, "We can be lonely together. Until the very end."

Immediately, the sound of a Muggle cab speeding across the street brings us back to the present. I take a short glance around the place - eyes fleeting over to the tall apartment buildings, watching the branches of trees dance to the wind softly blowing, looking at the people passing by us, and back to where we both stand.

His hands run along the bare skin of my arms. He traces every inch of it, almost as if he is memorizing it. I hitch a breath at how warm his fingers feel against me. I almost pull him closer, to gather more of his heat, to feel him better, to having him nearer, to never let go again - but… I…

 _This is wrong_ , I tell myself. _Or is it? If it is, then why does it feel so… right?_

Shaking my head, I flash a tight-lipped smile and stare at his face - now calmer, and ever more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.

"Tell me - would you have stayed there all night if I hadn't come home?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

"Possibly," Draco chuckles.

"That's ridiculous, Draco," I tell him. "You'd freeze to death."

"Warming charm. Besides, it seemed like the better option. Still is, actually," he mused. He rubs the back of his hand against my arm. I gulp and look down, praying that he wouldn't notice how red my face looks like.

I giggle, "And the worse?"

"Returning home to the Manor, and listening to my mother list down every single pureblooded witch in entire Europe for me to marry - "

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. He laughs, and I smile. A sense of relief washes over me, realising that he is here with me and not peering over the list his mother has prepared for him.

The rest of the world begins to fade around us. It swirls into the void, long forgotten and ignored - my disastrous date, his mother, Ron, Astoria… everything is gone, and we are all that remains.

Glancing up, I stare at him - eyes fixated on his own - and I reach up to brush a stray of blond hair from his forehead before sliding my fingers down to his cheek. He parts his mouth, a breath of contentment finally escaping.

I wonder if he… if we could -

He lowers his head, closer; so close that I swear, the air fills our lungs, uniting us. My heart skips a beat. Or two -

"We should probably get back," I stutter, clearing my throat. He slightly jumps back, and I pull back too - that burning sensation taking over me but nothing can ever put it out. Except him. "You can sleep on the couch. Like always."

 _What in holy Godric's name just happened?_ I think. But I sigh, showing him a smile before hastily walking back to my apartment.


	9. Nine

**Author's Note:** Hellooooooooo! Thank God, it's Christmas eve - meaning, I have time to spare to post an update, and maybe finish a chapter or of two. Now, first of all, let me please express my sincerest gratitude for your ever patience and support for this story. I'm really glad that you find it interesting enough to keep reading. A writer couldn't ask for anything in return other than appreciation, and for that, I'm thankful! This year has been tough, but writing has made it tolerable for me, and this fandom has catered to my writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And happy Christmas to everyone!

PS. The Ao3 version of this fic will be posted in another time (when I have more time) due to a little glitch in my account that _still_ prevents me from logging in. Hence, I cannot upload the updates. Apologies for that.

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Nine**

"When Draco becomes a stranger"

.o.O.o.

" _This might be it for me and you  
_ _Maybe we can draw that line  
_ _Maybe another time  
_ _Well I wanna do what's right  
_ _But maybe not tonight"_

 _(Maybe Not Tonight, Glen Hansard)_

.o.O.o.

July 2005

I stand in the far back corner of the reception hall, holding a half-full glass of expensive champagne and savouring the sweet aftertaste dipping onto my tongue. I steady myself against the wall and pushing all of my remaining energy down to my aching feet.

Watching as everyone danced, I fix my eyes to the newlyweds amidst the rest of the crowd. Harry - arms wrapped lovingly around Ginny - leans in to whisper something, causing his wife's cheeks to darken into a deep shade of red. She tiptoes, her pink lips planting a chaste kiss on his mouth - and soon, the crowd cheers them on.

I smile.

I draw in a breath - pushing my thoughts further into the back of my mind, drinking, and so desperately searching for that lost bit of hope I've been clinging onto for months.

The smooth rim of my champagne glass touches my lower lip, reminding me of his warm breath sighing in unison with mine and a jolting spark electrifying all of me -

Neither of us had spoken about it, nor had we openly decided not too - but somehow, the pair of us unconsciously agreed that talking about it probably wasn't the best idea.

I can still remember how quiet we were as we walked back to my apartment building, only talking out of necessity. As soon as we arrived, I prepared the couch for him to sleep on while he changed into some of the clothes he left before. We bid each other a _good night_ before turning off the lights.

The incident had been brushed under the rug - to be forgotten.

But I can't; even despite my best efforts to, I am reminded by a painfully satisfying punch through my sternum, an invisible knife plunged - twisting, turning, digging through as if looking for something lost, which I'm not sure what.

Shaking my head, I set aside my thoughts - my brown eyes flitting over the reception area. I spot George pressing a kiss to his pregnant wife's forehead while carrying little Fred in his arms. Luna seems to be in a very serious conversation with Neville and Hannah, who are engaged to be married in September. Theo stands next to his wife, Daphne, as they both share a drink with Blaise -

"They look… _content_ ," a voice says from behind me, cutting off my thoughts - and even without looking, I can easily tell to whom it belongs to. My chest tightens as the air thickens, sensing his close proximity.

Looking up, I hitch a breath of relief to find him looking somewhere else. I decide to follow his gaze and a perfect view of the newlywed catches my eyes as they sweep each other across the hall.

I sigh in agreement, "Yes, they do. She looks so beautiful. Honestly, I've never seen them so happier than now. Merlin knows how I wish I could be that happy."

The spaces between my fingers begin to sweat as I try to keep my balance steady, fighting the urge to hide.

Then, I glance back at him and ask - my own voice almost too hopeful: "Do you think we'll ever be that happy?"

He considers my question for a moment. I can see the gears in his head switching, probably remembering the last time he'd been happy - but for the first time in a long time, I can't read him. I study his face carefully, noting everything I see: the soft stubble growing around his jaw, how his mouth curls while his mind sifts through a million thoughts at once, the fixation of his eyes, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead, the eyelash that had fallen on his cheek – but now…

I only see him as a stranger. Someone that I once knew so well but not anymore. The swell in my chest gives me such discomfort, and my pulse almost exploding by how hard it throbs. A thought pops into my mind – making my knees wobble: _Had I completely lost him?_

Finally, he shrugs, answering my question, "Maybe."

A sharp pain hits my stomach - instead of butterflies, I feel wasps stinging me from the inside. I inhale, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep myself from sighing disappointedly.

"Doesn't it bother you," I begin again, shifting my stance as my whole body turns more frigid by the next second, "that most of our friends are preparing to marry - if they aren't already?"

"Why should it?" He tilts his head down, frowning – causing me to immediately look away.

"Well, obviously, we aren't getting any younger, Draco," I point out, focusing my attention on the crowd. Everyone seems to be oblivious to our conversation, thankfully - as this is a matter that I don't feel comfortable talking about in the open.

I continue: "As much as I enjoy being single, I also can't help but wonder if I'll ever… you know, find someone that would look at me like _that_ – " gesturing to Harry, his green eyes glittering as he watched Ginny laugh, "I mean, Ron used to but that was gone even before we broke up."

Needless to say, the concept of marriage has been bothering me for weeks now. I've thought about it even more - especially now that I am single and turning twenty-six in a few months. Witches in the wizarding world tend to get married earlier as adult life begins right after wizarding school - and truth be told, neither of us is ageing backwards.

I place the empty champagne glass on the nearby table and gently press a finger to my temple. A dejected sigh escapes my mouth before Draco speaks.

"It bothers me too. Mother still strongly insist that I find a respectable and dutiful wife to provide me with an heir," Draco snickers and looks around - as though searching for something missing. "She claims that as Master of the House, my main priority _should_ be to produce a pureblood heir – especially now that… well, Lucius is gone."

I notice him flinch at the mention of his father. But I decide not to comment, swaying the conversation: "Would it be rude to say that if I ever have children - "

" - _when_ ," Draco interjects - annoyance strongly intoned. "We've discussed this before."

"Semantics," I huff and wave my hand dismissively, followed by a soft giggle. "Anyway, I wouldn't want them to meet your mother."

Draco crooks his head, those soulful grey eyes gazing at me in amusement. He smirks, "No - I don't think it's rude. To be honest, I think that is the perfectly logical thing to do. I heartily support you."

I laugh - my heart bursting at how he smiles at me but I try to contain the heat flushing across my face. I look away, wishing he didn't notice.

"Speaking of Weasley," Draco mumbles, quietly venturing on someplace I'd rather not go - but he pushes on anyway, "you danced with him."

I exhale heavily in defeat. It isn't a question. It is a statement of a fact, an observation - and a topic that I don't know how to answer.

"You have such an impeccable timing as always," I snort, my voice dripping with sarcasm - desperately trying to distract myself from the erratic drumming of my chest.

Draco chuckles darkly. "Oh come on. We both know we'd talk about it eventually. Besides, I'm deadly curious. Would you rather I die than tell me?" A smug grin flashes across his face, causing me to hitch a heavy breath as though stones have replaced my lungs.

I fold my arms protectively over my chest and huff: "Don't be ridiculous. Nobody dies from not knowing; although, I can definitely _Avada_ your arse - "

"You wouldn't succeed - "

"And why is that? I happen to be the brightest witch of our age - "

"Because you love me too much to let me die," Draco replies egotistically. His signature smirk curls his lips - and without a minute longer, I imagine my face terribly blushing like he'd caught me putting my hand in the cookie jar.

"I - um…" My banter immediately dries from my mouth, replaced by incoherent sounds of mixed syllables. I can feel my pulse slowing - a beat too far from the next, too slow to even understand how I'm still standing.

Draco raises an eyebrow at me. But he says nothing.

Shite. I force my mind to stop thinking, grasping for whatever sanity I have left to pull me back to reality.

"Right," I clear my throat and hide away my reddened face. I shut my eyelids tight in utter embarrassment, praying for the ground to crack and swallow me whole.

I exhale – urging myself to end this conversation as soon as possible, "Fine, I'll tell you. But you can never tell anyone. I mean, _no one_."

"Who would I even tell?" Draco asks rhetorically. I send him a pointed look before he surrenders, "Alright, sure. Would you like me to take a Wizard's Oath? Or perhaps an Unbreakable Vow?"

Rolling my eyes and lowering them to the ground, I stare at my feet – feeling every layer of muscle in my body beginning to unfold and tremble. The noise fades into a soft background sound as though we have trapped ourselves in our own world; time essentially dragged out.

So painfully and excruciatingly slow.

Then, I mutter to him: "He asked - if you really must know. And I couldn't exactly refuse him. We are still friends after all, albeit considerable circumstances."

"Did you talk?"

"Of course," I say - unconsciously nibbling my lower lip. "It was okay. Kind of… awkward. But it was much better than I had expected, to be honest."

My sight blurs as I stare blankly into the open space, recalling when Ron had asked me to dance. He had been a bag of nerves, walking and sweating and stuttering – unable for me to wholly understand what he wanted until he simply blurted it out, asking for one dance, which I hesitantly agreed to.

Surprise took over me when he asked after months of quiet and side-glances and awkward dinner settings - but in the crevice of my mind, I knew that it was something I needed to do. Something I needed to know.

Draco asks, "What did you two talk about?"

I remember how rigidly straight our bodies were, separated by at least five inches, my hands damp with perspiration and his hands shaking terribly. We swayed uncomfortably in silence for a few minutes, eyeing the guests watching us with a quiet murmur of tasty gossip in their tongues – even Harry gave me a deeply concerned look, which I answered with an assuring nod.

Halfway through the first song, we engaged in small talk before Ron casually admitted to me: " _You know, one of the reasons why we didn't work was that Malfoy knew you so much better than I ever did_. _I wonder if maybe we could… you know, try again - "_

Flinching, I push the memory away -

"He wanted to know if..." I pause and inhale sharply, " - if he still has even the slightest chance with me. He wants… to give _us_ another try." As soon as I said it, my throat suddenly dries and turns rough like sandpaper scraping against each other.

Draco scoffs loudly, taking offence, "I think I might've totally underestimated his stupidity. I actually thought he'd have a handful more of his sensibility - guess, I was wrong."

I look away. Of course, I'd thought about it, but -

He lets out another strong huff from his mouth, sharply snapping his head toward me. "Please tell me, you didn't - "

"Godric, _no_!" I gasp loudly, a hand immediately covering my mouth to hide my embarrassment. "No. I mean, I've asked myself the same question for months – what if Ron wants to try again? What if this time… we can make it work?"

A tight-lipped smile anxiously tweaks on the corner of my mouth as an overview of my relationship with Ron came back to me. My mind is muddled with random thoughts and memories of those years, wondering what could've happened if I had said yes –

But as I glance across the room, I spot Ron standing over the bar - roaring in his boastful laughter as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed, and I realise that he isn't who I want anymore.

Draco looks at me, watching and waiting.

I shrug and go, "Truthfully – I wasn't sure what I wanted until I was dancing with him. I think… I needed a confirmation that… I – "

 _That it is you that I want_ , I think - an intense urge to say it but manage to swallow back.

The heaviness in my shoulders continues to weigh, sinking me lower. Lacing my fingers together, I begin to wring and knot them tight – terrified of letting go, terrified of losing control, terrified of losing _him_.

But I know that I will - soon.

My head crooks to an upside angle and my eyes locking with his own – raw and wide open, no mask to keep our emotions hidden. I don't know what this is – but this… whatever this is that makes me shiver in pleasure and pain at the same time despite the considerable distance between us is… maddeningly confusing.

Draco asks, maintaining eye contact, "What do you want, then?"

 _You._ A million needles stab through every inch of my skin at the thought, making me bite my lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood.

I only flash him a sad smile and shrug.

"All I know that I can't give him what he wants anymore. We're different now. I… I wouldn't be happy with him. Not anymore," I mutter – the swell in my chest slowly ebbing.

"Good," Draco replies with a satisfied smirk.

A laugh bubbles out of my throat, before I say, "You know – if I didn't know any better, I would've been a little offended by that. But I'm not."

Draco shifts sideways, facing me completely and fixes his gaze on my eyes – studying, memorizing, just… looking – and I notice him swallow before he whispers, "Look, Hermione – you deserve a lot better. No, you deserve the _best_. And if you ask me, I don't think there exists a person in the world that fits that description. But trust me, I know you'll find one that is close enough, eventually."

The air in my lungs gets knocked out of me, finding it so difficult for me to breathe – before I slightly nod. Then I say – the last words a promise, "Thank you. As you will." _Even if I won't be that person._

I reach for his hand, grinning: "Now, I'm tired of standing around here. Dance with me."

"I thought you'd never ask," Draco smirks back - allowing himself to be pulled to the dance floor.


	10. Ten

**Author's Note:** Hey! Wow, this story is almost coming to an end. Two more chapters! Whoooo! Thank you so much for reading this! And well, of course, I'll apologize now because this chapter is a tragic one, and I know it's not the best way to end the year. So yeah - sorry! This is the shortest chapter, but I think it went exactly the way I wanted it to. Anyway, thanks for continuously supporting this story! I hope you enjoy this one! xoxo

PS. The Ao3 version of this fic will be posted in another time (when I have more time) due to a little glitch in my account that _still_ prevents me from logging in. Hence, I cannot upload the updates. Apologies for that.

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Ten**

"When Draco hears the truth"

.o.O.o.

" _It's spiralling down  
_ _Biting words like a wolf howling  
_ _Hate is spitting out each other's mouths  
_ _But we're still sleeping like we're lovers_ "

 _(Still, Daughter)_

.o.O.o.

September 2005

The night fades into a blur - like a single thread of white light sweeping by in a haze, a silhouette hiding every detail behind. And if anyone asks me, I don't remember much of it.

My vision shatters into tiny shards of a broken mirror. His face reflected in cracks, contorted in disbelief; my own, red and wide-eyed in panic. Everything else is merely a slow-motion film on repeat. All I see is the two of us - screaming, fighting, _ruined_ …

 _How did I let this happen?_ _How could I let this happen?_ I ask myself - breathing hard as though the air in my lungs has been replaced by an uncontrolled _Fiendfyre_.

Draco opens his mouth, eliciting nothing but his ragged breath as he tries to catch up with it. Furrowing his brow, a clear expression of confusion and shock morphs his face as though he'd been slapped.

I exhale the breath I didn't realise I've been holding.

I take a slow step back, trying to remember what we'd been arguing about - but all I hear is that receding voice in the back of my mind, taunting me.

"Hermione…" Draco whispers - causing me to involuntarily shut my eyes once the sound of my name slips out of his lips and reaches my ears.

 _Why does it hurt this much? Why did it have to hurt at all -_

I shake my head, continuously panting in between my words, "Don't. Just… _don't_ say it, please. I - I can't do this - please, don't say anything." A sob stumbles out of my mouth, failing in my attempts to hide my tears.

I sniffle and turn away.

I can't properly breathe; no matter how hard I gasp for air, it just doesn't seem to be enough.

The scene before me darkens. It shifts and shakes and sinks, but I grab onto the strongest tightrope but even that feels so close to breaking. How am I still breathing when there is water in my lungs?

Even without looking, I can still feel the warmth of his gaze directed at me - poking me like a hot iron rod; prodding me to look up and look at him. But I maintain my eyes fixed on the ground.

My chest heaves as I manage to calm my breathing - in and out, in and out, in and out. Even without a mirror, I can tell how flushed I look - my skin a shade redder, both shoulders shaking, hands balled into a fist, and teeth grinding against each other.

"You don't have to say anything. Not if you don't mean it, okay?" I assure him, although my tone suggests the opposite. A long, defeated sigh passes through my gaped mouth, and I say: "I'm sorry. Just… oh Merlin, I'm sorry that I messed this - us - up." I swallow a sob wanting to come out, shaking my head repeatedly.

Taking his ice-cold hand around mine, clinging tightly as a mental reminder that this might be the last time I'll be able to hold him, "It's okay, it's okay - you don't have to say it back, Draco. I wouldn't want you to say it if you don't feel it - but I do, so I'll say it again - "

Our eyes lock with each other; mine, stinging with tears; his, still that beautiful swirl of grey in a vast white, " - I love you. I'm in love with you. And I don't know how or when or why, but I do - "

His fingers curl around my own. I can almost feel him also trying to hold me for a minute longer - neither of us ready to let go yet.

The strangled sob I've been trying to suppress suddenly breaks out, " - so much that it pains me to see you or even hold you right now. But it doesn't matter. We'll be friends, no matter what, okay? Promise me, Draco…"

Draco shakes his head. "Herm - "

"Promise me," I insist, shaking his hand in emphasis and pretending not to hear his voice crack like glass.

A pregnant pause fills in the widening gap between us - our friendship is sucked out by the void that we allowed to grow.

"I promise," Draco whispers. I detect the twisted lie in the spaces of every letter - but I smile anyway.

I nod and look down at our intertwined hands, tracing the lines and memorising the callouses his skin bears and praying that we had more time -

The weight in my chest presses itself into the tiny spaces left inside me, latching onto me so desperately to be felt - and I exhale in my attempts to shake it off.

I mumble, sniffing: "If you're ever going to love me, love me as me. Don't choose me out of pity - choose me because you want me. Because you love me too - " I hiccup a few sobs before shaking my head and wiping the evidence of my tears, " - I should go. I… I have to go."

"Wait, don't - " his hands wrap around my wrists, pulling us closer together - but I wriggle myself out of his grip.

"I… I can't do this. I need to - I need to go, Draco," I plead - my face turned away, avoiding him, knowing that with one look, I'll lose.

Draco tightens his hands around my arm, pulling me gently, "Hermione, please - just… let's talk about this - "

"I'm sorry, I can't… stay. Don't make me stay," I choke out. The lump blocking the opening of my throat swells painfully. Yanking my arm free from his, I immediately flick my wand and disapparated away.

As soon as I arrive home, I fall to my knees on the living room floor - violently shaking in sobs, and the inside of my chest crushed in someone's hand so tight I could barely move. I let out a loud, yet strangled cry and succumb to the pain.

 _Why does it hurt this much? Why did it have to hurt at all -_

The thorn lodged in the side of my torso twists, causing me to wince as I weep. Everything had fallen apart tonight, but the thorn has been here longer.

I hear a wail leaving me - knowing, I'd completely lost him.


	11. Eleven

**Author's Note:** Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, guys! Sorry if it took me a week late to post it. It has been a busy week. But okay - I think I've mentioned before that this story will have 12 chapters. But, well, I'll end this story with CH11. It's just... right. For an epilogue, I'll think about it. But here is the much-waited chapter. Enjoy! And thank you so much for the support and the patience! You're all amazing! 3

PS. The Ao3 version of this fic will be posted in another time (when I have more time) due to a little glitch in my account that _still_ prevents me from logging in. Hence, I cannot upload the updates. Apologies for that.

PPS. Before I forget, this entire chapter was inspired by The Newsroom's episode 2x09. I just imagine Will and Mackenzie as an older version of Draco and Hermione. Watch this show, guys! It's awesome. :)

 **Dedication:** LightofEvolution, Ariel-Riddle, and LashestoAshes - who worked tirelessly to read through, comment, and put up with my annoying giddiness over this story. You are all wonderful people! Thank you so much for everything! :)

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

 **Eleven**

When Draco gets lucky

.o.O.o.

" _How many times have I been here  
_ _How many times was I lost  
_ _And how many times I'd be drowning in the sea  
_ _If you weren't there to rescue me_ "

 _(Alone Apart,_ _Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová_ _)_

.o.O.o.

December 2005

And so September rolled by surprisingly quick; before I knew it, it started to snow in the midst of November. Hours turned into days, days into weeks, and weeks into months - soon, without any notice, Christmas is here.

Now, I sit here on my couch - a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows on top around my hand and an open book resting against my blanket-covered lap. I glance over, catching a glimpse of the snow gently falling through the air - some of it caught on the windowsill of my tiny living room, gathered in a small pile - when a sharp pang of longing suddenly hits me without warning.

Rubbing my hands against the warm surface of the mug, I force that growing lump back down my throat and try to ignore the heat climbing up on my chest. I don't know what is wrong; or maybe I do, I just am not ready to face it.

Frankly, I'm not used to being alone as I was before.

I look down to the unoccupied space on the other end of the couch, and the soles of my feet reaching out to absorb whatever heat remained of that spot where he used to sit on Christmas Eve. I can still hear his voice in the back of my head, telling me how he liked beer more than his mother's parties, and I'd laugh at his remark, and we'd sit in silence, drinking hot chocolate -

But… I sigh - perhaps this is how we end.

With a heavy breath, I shake my head, pushing all thoughts of him into the back of my mind. I can't - no, I don't _want_ to think about him right now.

And just then, a startling hiss breaks my trance.

I turn my eyes toward the direction of the sound, widening at the sight of bright green flames bursting inside the unused fireplace, followed by a lumped figure clumsily stumbling right across my living room floor.

The book falls off my lap as I bolt from my seat in surprise; my hand immediately draws out my wand in reflex and points it toward the intruder. I press my lips together, pushing back the hex behind my teeth, waiting and breathing -

Until he rolls over.

A splay of that familiar blond hair catches my eye; and unconsciously, I slowly lower my arm with a sigh of relief passing through me. But as soon as I begin to relax, a palpable burst of anxiety awakens me out of my slumber - remembering that I hadn't contacted him in months, not even an owl, not since…

Not since that night.

I hitch a breath, trying to keep myself together, "Draco…?"

Even the sound of his name slipping out of my mouth seems so rough like I've tasted sandpaper and can never get rid of the taste. A surprised frown shapes my face, maintaining a look of indifference to this situation and watching as he pulls himself up.

"W-what are you doing here?" I ask, my voice quivering.

Draco groans - either in pain or in response, I'm not sure. He releases a grunt as he stretched his back, his shoulders, and his arms. A trail of blood carefully slides down to his right brow, even the ends of his hair stained with a bright red colour.

"Um… hey," Draco mumbles a greeting.

I gently reach out to push off his hair, "Your forehead's bleeding - oh! Merlin, what happened?" I gape at the two-inch open wound on his forehead before looking down at him again in question.

Draco lifts his hand to touch his wound, causing him to wince as a stinging pain sets his nerves on fire - before letting out a sigh, "I think my mother threw a vase at me - fuck, is it bad?"

"Well, it isn't good," I say with a nod. Glancing across my tiny living room, I pick up the book off the floor and set it on the nightstand. I gesture him to sit, "Come on, take a seat. I'll clean that up."

He slumps on the couch, sighing in great relief as soon as his back touches the soft cushion. He throws his head back and shut his eyes. Meanwhile, I transfigure a vase into a basin, fill it with water, conjure a towel, and place it on the coffee table in front of him. I softly dip the towel in water and start to wipe off the wound.

I tell him, "It doesn't look deep, but you still might want to get yourself checked at St Mungo's to be sure. I'm not really good at healing spells."

Draco nods, watching me closely.

I continue working - but his eyes remain fixed on me as though he'd forgotten how I look like, reminding himself of every detail he could find etched on my face. I bit my lip as I put a gauze pad over his wound - and I let a disgruntled sigh, saying, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_ ," I insist - knowing that this conversation wouldn't end if I didn't stop it here. So I ask, "Why'd you come here, anyway?"

"Well, you were actually the main reason why she attacked me. Not exactly, but… you know," Draco says in a casual manner as if it didn't matter at all.

His mother doesn't like me. Even worse, she hates me for the sole reason that I am not from a pureblood lineage. But it has never come to a point that she had to attack her son because of me; he must've done something absolutely _unthinkable_ to expel this kind of reaction from her.

"Why?" I ask him, dropping the towel into the basin. "We haven't seen each other in three months. If anything, she should be celebrating - "

"Oh she is," he affirms. A sarcastic chuckle bubbles out of his throat. "Or she was - until I asked for this."

In his hand, he holds a gold ring with a large emerald stone on top. I hadn't noticed him take it out of his pockets - Merlin, I'm not even sure whether he'd been holding it the whole time! _Why is he showing me_ -

I take a step back, almost stumbling right onto the coffee table but manage to keep myself standing. I can feel the column of my throat turning into the hottest desert. My chest beats so loud it starts to echo right inside my ears.

Draco leans forward from the couch, ring still in between his thumb and index finger: "This is a Malfoy heirloom. It's a common tradition that the man uses a family heirloom to propose to his beloved. But since this had been passed onto blood purists, then I certainly understand if you want another - "

"I, um - what are you…"

The words tumble out the way a toddler tries to walk for the first time. My mind seems to jump between the letters and the spaces and the sentences - unaware of how to properly react to this situation - and I find myself drowning in whatever he is telling me.

" - to be honest, I had actually prepared a speech - so I wouldn't stutter like an idiot, which I realise I'm apparently doing right now because I'm shite at small talk - "

My mouth hangs open. I look at him, only to see nothing but a piece of broken glass in his hair as he looks down on the ground. And in the middle of his rambling, I manage to ask, "What the _fuck_ is going on?"

" -but I-I... here's this," Draco keeps on as he finally looks up; the swirl in his eyes ever more so detailed than I've seen before. "I love you. I'm in love with you. And well, you know, will you marry me?"

"What?"

"I asked you to marry me. And I also said that I love you - and believe me, I will love you for the rest of my life because, honestly, I don't know what else to do except keep loving you."

I stare at him, unblinking.

A flicker of self-satisfaction tweaks around the corner of his lips. I glance at the ring again. taunting me to accept -

Instead, I harden my face into a tight scowl. My hands ball themselves into fists and shove him hard against the couch, causing him to wince in pain.

"I… _you arsehole_!"

"Ow - what the hell…!" He yelps back in surprise and tries to dodge my fists; his face reflecting how much pain he feels as I keep pushing him.

But I didn't care, no; all I care about is keeping myself from _Avada_ -ing his arse to hell. I can sense my face heating up as blood rushes up to the top of my head, boiling and bubbling, but thank Merlin for giving me more than enough sensibility _not_ to attack him.

"How dare you, _Malfoy_ \- " I notice him flinch at the sound of his name grinding in between my teeth, " - how dare you ask me that after three months of completely nothing?! Some nerve you have - "

"Hermi - "

Pointing a finger at him as he begins to step forward, I scowl: "Don't… Just stay there because I feel like I'm gonna punch you in the face - and considering the fact that you've already been attacked, I am trying my best _not_ to hit you again."

The expression on his face tightens into a frown, completely confused. He tries to move again, but my hands quickly raise to maintain our distance.

A dejected sigh leaves his lips before stepping back.

He groans, shaking his head, "Gods, Hermione - why do you have to make it so complicated?"

My chest heaves as I manage to calm my breathing - in and out, in and out, in and out. Even without a mirror, I can tell how flushed I look, skin a shade redder, both shoulders shaking, hands balled into a fist, and teeth grinding against each other.

What the f -

"Oh, I'm the _one_ who's making it complicated, am I?"

"Yes!" Draco yells back, his eyes bright and fueled with the same rage I am feeling right now.

I recoil in surprise.

He goes on: "Because you left me! Before I could even say anything! You left, and I didn't know what to do! And you told me that you can't do this - what the hell was I supposed to think?"

My eyes begin to sting with tears as though they have been poked or stabbed by needles, and the air in my lungs seems insufficient to hold myself upright that I start to sway.

Opening my mouth to say something, he interrupts me with a sharp shake of his head: "No, no - you've said enough. This is my turn to talk! If you'd only let me talk - " he pauses and drops his head, hands on his hips, trying to keep his breaths in a steady pace, " - we wouldn't be here right now. If you'd only listen…"

We remain standing still, heaving as though we have spent a day running and only now we had finally decided to stop - as I think more about it, perhaps we have been running for far longer than a day.

Maybe months. Or even years.

"It shouldn't matter that you don't believe me - but it does, and frankly, I'm not sure how else to make you believe me," Draco starts, his voice somehow calmer and softer. "But I… I can't give you what you want - "

A breath of disappointment escapes me, followed by a string of ' _I told you so_ 's echoing in the back of my head, and all I can do is look at him - even for the last time.

Just look -

" - because it matters to me," he continues, "And of course, it is more than it is! How can you think that I don't… Gods - what else do you want me to do - "

Wait, what? Hang on a minute -

" - and I meant what I said," his eyes glide up so fast that his stare almost burns a hole through me, unbreaking, " - I love you, Hermione, and I want to spend the rest of my days with you. It just took me a long time to catch up, but I do - gods, so much."

I hold my breath as he continuously blabbers. I can feel all of my words plainly drying across my tongue as he continues to stumble in his own speech.

" - but if you choose to run off with Weasley, I'd understand that, too. But don't ask me to be friends with you if - "

And as he goes on talking, it seems as though my senses have stopped working. All I see is him - his mouth morphing soundlessly in his continuous rambling, his face contorted in anger, his eyes blazing and burning; and somehow, everything begins to make sense.

I inhale sharply.

"Okay," I say for the first time - my voice, small yet strong enough to break the barrier that has separated us from one another. I nearly choke from the roughness of my own mouth, barely managing to say something.

He looks back at me with a slight frown.

With more courage, I mutter again, "Okay…"

Clearing his throat, Draco asks with full composure: "Okay - like okay, you understand? Or okay - like okay, you'll marry me?"

A teasing smile breaks into my face.

"What do you think?"

Draco steps forward - closer, and closer, and closer - until we're only a few inches apart, and the heat radiating off his body dissolves the ice-cold anxiety in my chest.

I look at him calmly.

"Well," Draco drawls, "It would be too forward of me to assume that it's the latter part; but if you ask me what I want, then that's another matter - "

Rolling my eyes, I snap: "Oh shut up - "

And I kiss him.

Our lips touch softly - not the way feathers touch your skin, but the way the edges of each puzzle finally fitting perfectly with another. I don't remember pulling him in or tiptoeing; my body suddenly begins to feel light and afloat, nearly lifeless, but right now, it's the least important thing to worry about.

We begin to move - slowly at first; and soon, gaining pace and intensity. I lean in closer, closing the gap between us until not even air can come through. His arms smoothly wrap themselves around me while I lock my own around his neck, drawing him closer as if to merge with him.

Soon, a small smirk cracks his lips. I pull back, raising my eyes to meet his; the two of us still tangled in each other's embrace, not bothering to move, not wanting to let go.

"Took you long enough," I smile.

"Well, I…"

"Shut up," I shake my head - and we kiss some more.

We continue to taste each other's mouth and share each other's breath until our lips are swollen and red and sore - but we don't care anymore. The rest of the world fades as we explore our bodies' sensation to each other's touch, and we are both wrapped in our own personal bubble.

After a while, we finally stop snogging like teenagers but remain clinging in each other's arms. I push off a stray hair from his eyes while he circles his finger around the small of my back.

He says, "Okay."

"Okay," I nod - a soft chuckle following after.

Draco pulls my left hand, drawing my finger before slipping the ring around it. I feel a slight haze of thin magic binding me to the ring, and I look at him with a frown.

I ask, "Was this, by any chance, the ring you were supposed to propose to Astoria with?"

He lowers his head, avoiding me.

"...yes."

"But it's enchanted. The wearer cannot remove it - "

"I know," Draco says firmly. "I can't say I'm happy she cheated on me, but in this case, I guess I just got lucky."

Looking up, I see him - completely, emotionally raw and naked and true, and he has nothing else to hide from me. He is so beautiful -

And I love him.

And he loves me.

And somehow, that's all that matters right now.


End file.
